In Sorrow
by bbissocute
Summary: "When things are bad, we take comfort in the thought that they could always be worse. And when they are, we find hope in the thought that things are so bad they have to get better." Based off 'Slender' by Gemini Star01. No Pairings, rated for gore.
1. Discovery

Summary: "When things are bad, we take comfort in the thought that they could always be worse. And when they are, we find hope in the thought that things are so bad they have to get better." Based off 'Slender' by Gemini Star01. No Pairings, Rated for gore.

Alright. Been a while since I posted anything, let alone something not from Teen Titans. Hetalia's awesome, though, so it was just a matter of time before I did something from it.

Since I'm really lame, I wrote this based off another ABSOLUTELY AMAZING fanfic by Gemini Star01, 'Slender' (http:/www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5952008/1/Slender)

While I tried (_tried_ being the operative word) to write this so even someone who didn't understand the fandom or the fanfic it's based off of could jump right in, I definitely recommend it to everyone, because it's a great fic. 'Nuff said.

Things to know:

Slenderman: Scary monster dude who looks like a really tall creepy guy, but likes to eat peoples' souls. He has tentacles that extend from his body, and from what I've read, he seems like a shadow monster. He also can control people, as exhibited in the following. He doesn't have a face.

Characters and Human Names:

America=Alfred F. Jones

Canada=Matthew Williams

England=Arthur Kirkland

France=Francis Bonnefoy

Plot overview: In the fanfiction this is based off of, the guys come out to a Matthew's cabin to shoot a documentary (Alfred hates winter, so he decided to do one on spring, since it is essentially 'killing' the snow), when Slenderman starts screwing with Alfred. Eventually, through a long string of events, he ends up controlling Matthew and torturing Alfred in attempts to get him to spill where the key to the cabin door is (as it is an old one, and only opens, either way, via key).

Now this fic, while based off Gemini's wonderful story, does take a turn at this point. It's fairly gory, at least in the beginning. Also, Arthur and Francis do show up eventually.

I do switch POV's a lot as well (even beginning with Slenderman for the first section), but I try to make it so one knows who's talking when. If there are issues in understanding, let me know and I'll make sure to fix it. :) Alright, on with the story!

* * *

Chapter 1

The boy had pushed him too far. His rage finally gave way to giddiness as he watched the scene unfold. The monster outside the window danced happily as he observed his puppet carry out his will, pulling and tearing the flesh and blood that belonged to the controlled's brother. He gleefully swayed as his marionette ripped a single ice-blue eye from its socket and held it merrily before the helpless, whimpering mass held in the chair.

A breeze of anger flared again; this man's reaction was not what he had hoped for. He had _hoped_ for screams, pleading terrified cries, but all he received instead was silence and the occasional moan that escaped the man's tightly clasped lips. Disappointing, to say the least.

He forced his pawn to put on his unseen, sickeningly manic grin and stared down at the trembling figure in the chair. The doll brandished the eye at the bound man, and in one swift motion, crushed it. Frenzied laugher escaped the Slenderman's invisible lips, and was echoed by his shadow in the house.

When his amusement was filled, he allowed his control to slip from the purple-eyed twin. He sunk to the floor with a delightful thud. Slenderman, bored of this game for now, and knowing there would be nothing interesting to see for several hours, decided to take his leave. He would return when the time was right.

* * *

As Matthew slumped to the floor, panic seized Alfred's heart. He glanced towards the window, towards the monster, but found it empty. He waited only a moment before calling to the boy quietly.

"Mattie?" He did not respond. Alfred struggled at his bonds, attempting to loosen them to reach his brother, sprawled out on the floor. They were too tight, he knew already, far too strong for him to break through. He didn't know if that was because of some magic the monster put on the ropes to bind his strength, or if Matthew was simply an amazing knot securer.

Fearfully he called to his brother again, louder and louder each progressive time. He could feel his throat becoming raw with exertion, but he continued to speak his brother's name until after several hours it was nothing more than a broken whisper. The pain, the loss, the emptiness of the entire event finally hit him then, with nothing more than his own grating calls to distract him from the quiet lonesome of the cabin.

He feared for his brother slumped against the floor (hopefully) unconscious, which he could only see an outline of thanks to his glasses being removed previous. His eyes, or what had once been his right one (as it was no longer where it should have been, he shuddered to himself) stung in the air as the warm blood that dripped down from his forehead slid down his cheek, cooling as it went. He did his best to ignore the emptiness on the right side of his face; he couldn't think of that now.

Alfred was quiet for a long time. With the pain catching up to him, his dread for his silent brother consuming his rational responses, he felt the dam of emotions he had been holding back through this terrifying event break. Tears found their way down his face before he could protest, and he shook with each heaved breath in attempts to calm himself.

Eventually, from both physical and mental exhaustion, Alfred slept.

* * *

Alfred was startled awake by a low groan. As he peaked open his eye, he could see the blur that was his brother shift. A mixture of fear and elation filled him; he was finally awake, yes, but could the monster still be…?

He did not care if he was, he needed to hear his brother's voice, hear that he was okay. "Mattie?" he tried again, noting how raspy his voice sounded. He heard another grunt from the mass in front of him, and encouragingly called out to it again.

* * *

Matthew felt dazed. His eyes were tired, and he was reluctant to wake them. An odd smell filled his nostrils, one heavy and bitter, and a coppery taste coated his mouth. Distantly he could hear a muffled voice, familiar, yet off somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it felt…wrong…

Shuffling his knees up, he curled into a ball on the hard surface. It certainly wasn't his comfortable bed. Why would he be anywhere else? Reluctantly, he peeked his eyes open just the slightest. He looked through his filthy glasses as he took in his surroundings with a sleepy stare.

It appeared he was indeed on the ground, of which he recognized after a second as the flooring to his cabin. A vague memory flittered across his mind of coming up with Al for the weekend to help him with his nature film…

The voice grated against his subconscious again, drawing him towards the source. A pair of feet stared back at him, and through the dim morning light, he could see the vague shape of a person towering in a chair before him.

"_Oh, thank God, Mattie, you're awake!"_ the voice exclaimed hoarsely. He acknowledged it as belonging to his brother, and he glared through the darkness in attempts to see him.

The back of his head pounded, and Matthew pulled his fingers from the floor to check it. His hand was covered in a sticky liquid, and couldn't identify much, so he dropped it to rest against the ground once again, adjusting his fingers to avoid them from catching against it. He felt with his opposite hand, which was clean, and reaffirmed it was nothing more than a large, tender bump.

"You alright, Matt? You hit the floor pretty hard. How are you feeling? You okay?" Alfred's voice flittered back towards him, the sound of gravel heavy in his throat. Matthew looked up to reassure him softly.

"Al, I'm just fi-"

Enough light had filtered through the musty window now to illuminate the room, revealing a monstrous scene before Matthew.

Alfred, with a look of relief and exhaustion, looked down on him, the front of his shirt soaked in the blood that drained down his face from the right side. Resting above the stream gaped a dark hole, so very empty compared to its blue brother sitting just centimeters away.

Matthew choked on his words.

* * *

Alright, first chapter. Hopefully it turned out decently, I've never written horror before, so this is a trial run. Once again, go read Slender by Gemini Star01, because it's really good.


	2. Acrimony

Alrighty, here goes chapter two. ^^ I kind of backtracked a bit, just so you're aware. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Alfred looked down at his twin, nervous jitters catching in his chest. Mattie was reaching towards his head…Was he hurt? Was it the fall that caused him to stay unconscious for so long? Did he break something?

"You alright, Matt? You hit the floor pretty hard. How are you feeling? You okay?" his voice urged, a tinge of worry flittering in at the sharp intake Matthew made as he checked his crown.

"Al, I'm just fi-"

As Matthew's voice strangled off, looking Alfred squarely in the eye, he could see through the small stream of light the fear that drained the color from his brother's features. Alfred remembered the aching wound his adrenalin had kept at bay, and turned his face away slightly to block it from the terrified boy's view.

He knew Matt was not accustom to seeing such sights; he was a gentle soul by nature. He couldn't possibly comprehend what he saw…Alfred feared that seeing such a thing could scar his brother's psyche…

In attempts to reassure him, Alfred forced on what he hoped was a light hearted smile, "Don't worry, Mattie, everything's fine…" Noting the sickened look quickly overtaking the boy's face, Alfred tried to recapture his attention again.

"Mattie?...You okay?" With no response, no movement from his brother, Alfred felt a prickle of alarm.

"Mattie? Come on, bud, talk. You've been out for hours, I need to know if anything's wrong…"

* * *

It was gone.

The entire thing.

Just gone.

How could it be gone?

Faintly, Matthew heard Alfred's voice raise an octave, but he couldn't bring himself to break away from the horror in front of him. A sharp twist stabbed his gut, causing Matthew to pale more as the question registered against the back of his shaken mind.

What monster could have done this?

Slowly, he could feel heat seep through him as anger flushed against his cheeks. Some beast had carved out his brother's eye. He would kill the son of a bitch. He would hunt him down and destroy him. He would _make him pay_…

Alfred had quieted. This troubled Matthew. Alfred was never quiet. He refocused on his brother, shifting towards him carefully.

A sudden clang of metal startled them both. Matthew jumped, skittering back away from the bloody knife he disturbed as he crawled forward. The monstrous weapon lingered there, gloatingly smeared with the red-brown stains. Matthew swallowed a growl as he glared towards the retched thing.

Looking back up at Alfred, he noted the awkward position of his arms against the back of the chair. Of course, he was tied, that should have been obvious he berated himself. Quickly standing and defiantly avoiding the bloodied carver, Matthew strode to his brother's side and began working on the knots that held him captive.

* * *

The dark glower that rested over his brother's features brought a chill to Alfred's spine. Matthew had never looked so…threatening. It was not in his nature…The look…it reminded him of his face when the Slenderman was…

As Matthew shuffled, the loud clang of him brushing the knife beside him shattered the quiet of the small room. Alfred, watching his brother's reaction, relaxed; this was the Mattie he knew, the one who shied away from violence, the nervous, gentle child he grew up with.

He felt the pressure on his raw wrists twist and pull as Matthew attempted to untie him. Alfred turned his head so that his good side was showing to talk with Matt.

"Ah, Mattie, I've been so worried, you have no idea! You've been out for hours, I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up! You hit the ground so hard last night…I don't know, I was just worried. Are you sure you're okay? The last thing I need is for you to pass out on me again 'cause of brain damage or somethin'…"

Matthew wasn't paying any attention, he could see, but it helped for Alfred to talk anyway. It helped ease the emptiness.

He heard a sharp swear and felt the mount of knots that held him still as Matthew stopped struggling with them. Slowly, Matt walked towards the bloody knife on the floor, and Alfred couldn't help the unease that swept through him.

* * *

Frustration crept through Matthew as he struggled with the knots. Nothing he was doing seemed to make it any looser, and judging by the occasional twitch his brother gave, he was just making things worse. The bike chain, looped around and tied in place with the thick knots, seemed to only antagonize the situation.

Fuming, Matthew threw down the knots and glared over Alfred's shoulder. His eyes met with the one thing he didn't want to ever look at again; the instrument that caused his brother so much pain sat on the thick carpet, taunting him.

Hesitantly, he started for it. Matthew didn't want to touch the thing, didn't want to be anywhere **near** it, but if it would free his brother's binds…He had to try.

Carefully he gripped the knife. He heard Alfred clear his throat behind him, but he focused solely on the task at hand. Slowly, he stepped towards his twin, brandishing the blade.

* * *

As his brother crept towards him, the same angry mask he held before glazed over his features, Alfred couldn't help but tremble just the slightest.

"Mattie…?" he tried, not sure if Matthew was still there to respond on his behalf.

His brother walked around behind Alfred, ignoring the stuttered response; he felt the pressure again on his wrists. After a moment or two, the thick rope fell with a thud to the ground. Alfred's shoulders, which had been pulled back so long they had lost all feeling, dipped forward and allowed the soreness to seep back in. Gently, he rubbed his raw wrists.

There was a sharp clamor as the knife was slung somewhere in the corner and he heard Matthew sit down behind him.

Knowing this was probably the only chance he would get to check himself, Alfred put a hand to the right side of his face. It was still wet, but he could feel the crimson liquid beginning to crust over. Fear from Matthew's reaction to him before, and knowing the last thing he needed to do was to scare his brother half to death, Alfred painfully began to wipe the blood off his stinging face onto his ruined shirt.

It was a difficult job, with how tender the entire area was, but he got most of it off with ease because of how damp it still was. It felt like it was beginning to heal, as the blood had stopped, but still much too raw to do anything with. Figuring it was about time to recapture his brother's attention, he attempted a relaxed tone.

"Ugh, that feels soooooo much better. Didn't realize I was this stiff before…" he said, addressing Matthew as he nonchalantly stretched his arms. Turning, Alfred couldn't help but forget his words as he faced his brother, pale and horrified, staring down vacantly at his hands.

* * *

Honestly, I'm not really all that pleased with it, but its part of getting where we need to go, so it will have to work for now. Chapter 4 is when we first see Arthur, so we're getting there!


	3. Recollection

Alright, another chapter! Once again, there is some back tracking going on. I know, I wrote it all weird. Sorry.

Oh, and I nearly forgot the disclaimer!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own ANYTHING. I don't own the characters, I don't even own the original idea (Gemini Star01 owns all that. If you still haven't checked out Slender, go do it now. It's pure awesome, I do not exaggerate)! I own nothing…

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

As the rope and chain fell, Matthew slung the knife as far away from himself as he could. He breathed a shaky breath, drooping down to the floor haphazardly. Glancing up at his brother's head, he noted the blood-matted hair clinging to the back of his scalp. Anger flared once more.

What kind of monster could be capable of this? And why?

Matthew tried to think back, think of what he remembered about yesterday. He had left to go get groceries, because they had nearly run out, and he remembered it being a fairly long drive…Was Alfred with him? No, no, he had decided to stay back at the house…Said he was going to work on his project, his film…

He remembered Alfred playing a trick on him earlier that day, something to do with a blurry picture of a tall guy or something standing outside the window…Wait.

When he got back. That phone call from Alfred! He remembered, the panic in his voice, telling him not to get out of the car, to drive away…And then…And then the man, only he wasn't a man, he came and ripped him out of the car, and then everything was dark…

He must have been the one…

Matthew scrunched up his fingers, sensing the sticky feeling cling, making the movement difficult. Irritated, he brought his hand to rest in front of his face.

He gagged.

His hand was covered in blood.

Matthew knew instantly it was not his own. It couldn't be, he had checked. There were no abrasions on his hand, nothing for the blood to have come from. It was the same blood on the knife. The same blood on Alfred. The same blood…_from_ Alfred…

He tried to rationalize it. He tried to remember, to prove he had not done anything, _could_ not have done anything to his brother.

The only memory he got was of himself, through blurry eyes, smashing a cold metal pipe over his twin's head. Twice.

He could hear his brother through the fog of hysterical thoughts spinning through his mind, calling to him, asking if he was okay, pleading with him to say something. He felt the monstrous hand pull away, being searched. He felt his other arm pull upward, shaken to gain his attention.

When Matthew finally looked up, all he could see was the emptiness.

* * *

Alfred scurried down from the chair to the floor where his brother sat, the horrified expression set in his face. Ice trickled down his throat as dread seeped up it. Frantically he checked his brother's stained hand, searching for the injury that was causing Matthew to look so terrified.

He could find nothing but dried blood there, not even scrapes or bruises. Something else was wrong. He needed to get Matthew's attention. Grabbing his arms, he tried to pull his brother's focus from his hand.

"Hey, Mattie, what's a matter? Come on, what's wrong? Speak to me, Matt. Matthew! Hey! Look, please, just tell me what's wrong!" He could feel his thick voice cracking as he went on, from both the emotion and the rawness.

Finally, very slowly, Matthew looked up. Relief pulled over Alfred, success within reach. Things were finally going to be alright; it was day time, Matthew was awake and finally coming around, and he was out of that retched chair. Everything was going to-

Matthew's horror-struck scream broke him instantaneously from the thought.

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. Remembering his face, he turned so less of it showed. He was still for just a moment, before he quickly swept his brother in his arms, comforting him.

The cry slowly turned into deep, hitched sobs, and while he tried to gently push away from Alfred at first, Matthew eventually let the weight of his despair crumble in his brother's embrace. Alfred tried to reassure him, his soft words dragging against his sore throat.

"Everything's alright, don't worry. You're safe. Nothing's wrong, everything's okay. I know that wasn't something you've… That…My…I'm sorry you had to see it...I didn't mean for you to…"

Matthew's breath hitched again and he pushed back, breaking Alfred's hold and violently vomited away from him. He trembled, his slight frame finding it difficult to maintain balance through the event. After a moment to regain himself, Alfred moved to pat Matthew's back as he continued the unnerving task.

After several more heaves, his twin finally settled down, still shaking, on the opposite side of the floor in attempts to distance himself from his fretful brother.

* * *

He was responsible.

He took it.

He did it.

He was the one.

No one else.

Just him.

_He_ was the monster.

As he sobbed into Alfred's shirt, attempting in vain to push himself away, to not hurt him anymore, Matthew tried to tell his brother these things, for he was obviously confused, didn't realize what Matthew had done, what he had taken from him. But he couldn't speak, couldn't force his lips to work, his vocal cords to vibrate for him, to warn his brother, the one he had harmed.

He tried, so very hard, to break from him, to warn him, to do _something_, but nothing would come. He was too weak. He was supposed to be, at least. And yet he had done something as horrific as this…

Eventually he gave up; gave up against pushing away, gave up against trying to work his voice, gave up against everything. He just wept. He could do nothing else. Anything else was impossible. How could he…

He could hear his brother speaking to him, attempting to _comfort_ him. The thought, comforting the assassin!

As his brother spoke, Matthew distantly listened to the sound of Alfred's voice struggle against the rawness of his throat. Morbid thoughts began to weave through his mind as the broken sound made its way to him.

Did Alfred yell for him to stop? Did he cry his name, attempt to bring sense to him before _his own brother _carved out his eye? Did Alfred scream as the blade, the one Matthew had held not so long ago, sliced through his face?

He felt the bile shoot up, away from the sharp, tearing pain in his stomach, just in time for him to push Alfred to the side and heave up whatever rested at the bottom. Tears burned painfully in his eyes and he tried to blink them away. He could feel Alfred's hand gently thumping against his back, trying to _sooth_ him. He gagged up more acid.

Eventually he crawled off, away from the mess he'd made, curling himself into a small ball. Matthew stared incredulously at his traitorous hands.

He felt Alfred sit next to him. He tried his very best to shift away, to hide himself in the ball and disappear and become invisible as he'd always been.

But Alfred dragged him back gently; his naïve brother pulled himself over and wrapped his arms around the Monster, hushing him softly. He rocked back and forth with the Fiend sobbing against his chest, so very undeserving of the kindness he showed it. He brushed the wet hair from the Beast's eyes, tried to clean away the tears that slid down its' worthless face with his own soiled hands…

This continued past when Matthew no longer had tears to shed and only hitched, pained sobs uncontrollably left his lips. It lasted longer than his voice held off on him, and through the struggled breaths, he'd manage a single incomprehensible phrase or two before he'd completely break down sobbing again. It continued past midday, and into the evening. And the two just sat there, Matthew trying desperately to warn his unassuming brother of what ghastly things he had done while Alfred tried in vain to comfort him.

* * *

So yes. Again, not completely happy with it, but, eh. It furthers the story, and that's what's important. I believe it's after this point there are less 'person 1 POV, person 2 POV' and more 'this is happening, now this is happening' just depending on who's more suitable to be telling the story. Does that make any sense? Maybe? Yeah. Well I'm fairly excited about the next chapter. Maybe it's because they actually have dialog in it instead of just description. Sorry for that. After this point, I promise, there's A LOT more actual talking.


	4. Anticipation

Yay for dialog! Not until near the end, but still! We made it, people! The plot train has left the station, FINALLY. Let's see where it takes us…Hopefully somewhere with milkshakes…

DONOTOWNPERIOD

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

Eventually Matthew's shaking slowed, his breath returning back to normal. Alfred glanced up at the clock: 5:17 PM. It was getting dark again. He needed to get things ready.

Sliding away from Matt, Alfred stood on wobbly feet. His leg throbbed as he put weight on it, and instinctually he pressed over the brittle, blood-soaked patch in his jeans. Seeing his brother begin to shake more violently in response to his absence, Alfred was quick to reassure him.

"Don'tcha worry, Mattie, I'm just gonna clean up. Want something to eat? I know all the food 's out in the car, but I think there's some granola bars in one of the cupboards? You want one?" Matthew said nothing, just tightened his ball and let out a shuddered breath. "I'll get'cha one, just in case, alrightly?"

He patted Matthew on the top of his head lightly, and stumbled towards the chair in the center of the room. Alfred would need to find his glasses before he did anything else.

After a short time he finally dug them out from under a shelving unit and plopped them on. Alfred frowned at the large black area to the right of him he could no longer see, and at the large crack that _of course_ would be over the portion he still needed, but shuffled towards the hall nonetheless. As he passed the clear window, he wrenched the dark curtains shut with a jerk of his arm.

Entering the bathroom, Alfred focused on finding the medical kit first, pulling out a roll of gauze and some medical tape from the small cabinet that hung above the sink. He avoided the mirror's gaze for as long as he could, and made sure to take off his glasses before looking up. Snagging the Peroxide as a last minute measure, he soaked a small square of cloth in the bitter liquid and slowly cleaned the outside edges of the wound.

As he went through the motions, he tried to imagine he was helping another.

As he finished, Alfred slipped his glasses on and slid from the bathroom without a second glance at the mirror. He stopped by his bedroom to grab a new set of clothing, cleaning and wrapping his leg, and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.

Ruffling through the cabinets, he finally found two Oats and Honey granolas and shuffled towards the phone, munching hungrily on one. Alfred grabbed the heavy key to the door, the one which was both his savior and the source of his problems, from the bottom of the knife draw where he'd left it the previous night.

Wandering towards the older phone resting on the counter, he took another bite from his granola. Alfred pounded the numbers he'd memorized long ago into the keypad and listened to the dial tone as it transformed into a methodic ring. When a confused British tenor broke through, his heart nearly pounded straight from his chest.

"Ello? Matt? Why are you calling using this line? You never phone me with-"

"Arthur, it's me."

"Oh. Alfred, what do you want? I'm a bit busy at the moment and don't have time for-"

"It's important. Do you know where Mattie's cabin is? The one I'm calling from?"

"Yes, I do, but I don't see why that's any consequence to yo-"

"It is. I need you to come as soon as you can. I need you to trust me. It's an emergency." A pause.

"An emergency? What happened? Are you all alright? What's wrong?"

Alfred hesitated. The reason he hadn't called England in the first place was because he wouldn't believe the truth. He might believe half truths, though.

"There's…this guy…He did some things to me and Mattie and we're kinda stuck here. I can't get us out in my current condition, so that's why I'm begrudgingly involving you. You have to do exactly as I say, though, or something could happen to you too, and I don't think I can help you out if it does…"

Alfred heard the breath hitch on the other line before beginning. "It's…It's really all that bad, then? Should I…Should I involve Francis?" Though Alfred heard the sour note at the end of his sentiment, he could tell Arthur was genuinely concerned. Good. He would come.

"Do what you think is necessary. Just…" He paused, sucking in a sharp breath. He hated the desperate tone leaking through his voice. "Please hurry."

"I will. Expect me within the day." The tone on the other end was blunt, to the point, and without exceptions. Just as it sounded as if Arthur might turn the phone off, Alfred remembered his warning.

"Wait! When you approach, call me here. I will give you further instructions when you arrive." His voice hardened, "_If_ you don't get a response, it's too late, so DON'T come any closer. Do you understand?" There was a sputter on the other side of the phone, and he felt an argument start to brew.

"Alfred, are you out of your mind! I'm coming, despite whateve-"

"Do you understand?" The tone was nonnegotiable, and this stopped whatever argument Arthur had planned on hollering out. After a silent moment, a begrudged response leaked through the line.

"I…I understand…"

"Good. Now, please, your entire trip, make sure you lock your doors. Don't open them unless I tell you. It's important."

"I will. Restrain from doing anything foolish before I arrive, please."

"Yeah, sure thing. See ya then." There was a soft rustle and a long silence. Then the dial tone went dead. Alfred hung the phone back up on the hook and stared at it for a moment.

He hoped Arthur got there soon.

* * *

Back in England, Arthur Kirkland frantically raced to his terminal where fortunately, a private jet was waiting for him. The perks of being a country. Not that it stopped any of his worries.

Alfred never said a situation was too much for him. Never, not for however long it was he'd know him (and he'd know him for a very, VERY long while) had he **ever** asked for help. He was the _hero_, and he always felt the need to prove himself a fool over it every chance he had.

This was serious. Arthur couldn't place it, but he knew something had shaken the boy beyond his boundaries. Something he honestly thought couldn't be done…

As he rushed down the hall, he reluctantly typed in Francis' phone number. If Matthew was indeed hurt, the last thing he needed was to be the one who knew but didn't tell the man. The Frenchman could be so protective of that boy…

"'Ello, this is Francis speaking, 'ow man I 'elp you?" Arthur groaned, not in the mood to deal with the man this early in the morning. Or any time, for that matter. But he had to, for the boys' sake. Fear clutched at his stomach again, and he was interrupted before he even began.

"_Angleterre_, I see you 'ave finally come around, _non_? 'Ow may I be of serves?" Arthur growled.

"There's no coming around with you! Now listen. I only called because there's something going on over across the pond. The boys are in some kind of trouble, and I'm headed that way to check into it. I thought…Well, I thought you might be interested in Matthew's wellbeing."

The previously pompous air he had held disappeared in an instant at the mention of Matthew. "What is the matter? Is something wrong with _Mattieu_? Where is 'e?"

"All I know is he's up at the cabin, both of them are, and there's some kind of ruckus going on with another person. I'm going to check it out. I…" he couldn't help the annoyed air slip into his tone as he continued, "…I can stop and pick you up, if you are willing to be corrigible…" Loud, shuffling noises began on the other side of the phone, followed by a response much quicker than expected.

"_Oui_, where will we be meeting, _Angleterre_? I am packing as we speak." England grimaced. Well, at least he had some backup…that was _kind_ of relieving…

Even if it was that toad.

* * *

Alright, maybe not as exciting as I made it out to be…Still, things are happening! That's something, at least. ^^''

Sorry if the few French words I did use suck; I'm a German speaker myself, so I don't know much of any of that. If there are any errors, and any French peoples care to correct me on them, I'll make sure to change it asap.


	5. Complications

Okay, so this is (I think) the longest chapter I have right now, certainly posted, but written as well…No Francis or Arthur, unfortunately, but they'll be back next chappy. Sorry for the lateness, computer deleted the original edited version, so I had to go back and redo it all. ^^'

I'm not sure if I'm suppose to do a disclaimer only once or for every chapter, but it still stands that none of this is owned by me, and that I'm just a big copycat. Throw your tomatoes of shame at will. Just try and avoid the hair, please.

Oh, and swearing! I know there was some in like, chapter 2 too, but I forgot. So now I'm remembering. There is swearing below. You've been warned…

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Alfred sighed, grabbing the extra granola and departed to check back on Matt. He'd left him alone for a solid half hour now (or fairly close to it), and it probably would be best to get some food in him, good or not.

As he exited, Alfred clipped himself on the right side of the counter that escaped his sight, swearing lightly under his breath. 'Suppose he'd have to get use to making room for things like that in the future. Irritating, but nothing he couldn't deal with. Just got to be more careful…

Alfred glanced around for Matthew as he entered the rumpled room. It appeared he was still sitting in the corner, curled up in himself. Alfred felt a sharp tug at his heart but ignored it in letting the little peace Matthew seemed to have for the moment be; he decided to clean up a little before disturbing him, give the boy some time to gather himself while getting rid of some of the reminders of that evening's events.

Picking up the debris surrounding them wasn't too difficult, but when it came to the blood, the chair and floor were stained irreparably. Eventually Alfred simply gave up on the stained carpet and turned to check on Matthew. He still hadn't moved. Maybe he was asleep?

No matter. Pulling himself to a standing position, Alfred carried the bucket back towards the kitchen to dump it. Once again, his right side slammed into the counter as he entered the room. He was knocked down by the force of it and cursed heatedly under his breath as water splashed to the ground. He would have two bum legs if this continued.

Annoyed, he began to soak up the pink liquid seeping over the tile floor. Alfred had a difficult time of it, as he couldn't really kneel on his leg (even with the wound up so high, it hurt to put even a little pressure on the damn thing), which left him sitting on the wet floor and scooting across it or leaning on a single knee and falling every twenty seconds.

Alfred decided he'd look less ridiculous if he alternated.

It was easier to concentrate on the task at hand rather than allow his mind to wander. And he tried his very best to follow through with that plan. However, guilt seeped up and squeezed at his lungs. Alfred couldn't help wonder if he was busying himself so diligently for a particular reason…

His gaze fell on the softened reflection that appeared in the thin spread of water and he grimaced. Well, he thought to himself with bitter humor, there was no mistaking Mattie for him now…

Shame seized Alfred as that thought led to another, angrier one. Shaking it away, he stood on his trembling feet. Alfred hobbled to the sink and disposed of the stained liquid before reminding himself to check back in on Matthew. He'd been so distraught earlier, and even if he'd managed to collect himself…

Alfred wished he'd been able to get out of that chair himself. Then Matthew wouldn't have had to see…

As Alfred entered the room, he stiffened.

Matthew was now standing, back towards him, his balance wavering ever so slightly as he teetered back and forth in front of the large window. The drapes were still closed.

* * *

It was dreadfully silent.

Matthew had resolved in Alfred's absence to halt all his blathering, as it was getting them both nowhere fast. He needed to clear his head, to think.

Obviously Alfred was hurt. And more than anything, he was the cause of it. He needed to do something, something to make sure his twin was safe, especially if...If something else were to happen…Alfred would be too injured to defend himself…

A dizzying feeling wafted over Matthew, and he heard the world's sounds flitter out of focus, only a low, drumming beat remaining constant, thumping thickly in his ears. His breath caught in his throat.

"**Matthew…"**

Before he knew what he was doing, the purple-eyed boy stood stiffly, wandering towards the window sluggishly. His eyes searched the dark crevasse leaking between the curtains for some unknown compulsion, anxiety clawing in the pit of his chest.

When his eyes finally came to rest on the placid marble surface, he felt cold peace.

* * *

Fear pierced Alfred's heart as he stood watching, silent and still. His mind raced and slowed at the same time, confused, jumbled thoughts bouncing around in attempts to make some sense of the scene before him. He only knew one thing for certain. Whatever Matthew was doing by the window, it wasn't anything good.

By and by he thawed himself, forcing his legs to stager forward towards his aloof twin. As he reached the pane, he could see only inky darkness peek from the small opening in the drape. Shivering to himself, Alfred hesitantly reached out to touch his brother's shoulder…

As soon as contact was made, the boy flinched away, his wide eyes flicking to the worried man's face for but a moment before he fell back into his protective ball.

Alfred nearly laughed from relief as he worked to calm the frantic pounds of his heart.

Remembering his cringing brother, Alfred slid to the floor and touched the back of Matthew's head to gain his attention. A rather large bump had formed there, and Alfred bit off a concerned hiss in favor of a more reassuring tone.

"Hey bud, I just brought you that granola I promised. Wanna take a bite? It's good." He scooted closer to his brother, dismissing how very little he looked curled into himself like that. Putting on a false smile, Alfred reached for Matthew's arm and unlocked it with ease from its grip on the other.

"Maaatie, come on, you gotta eat. So I lied about it being tasty, you'll forgive me, right?"

A shaky sob escaped the ball at that, followed by several trembles that shook his tiny frame. Alfred wrapped his arm around Matt's shoulders and rubbed his upper arm reassuringly.

"Come on, bud, it's gonna be okay, I promise." Alfred's voice was no more than a whisper. Gently he grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him closer to rest his shivering body against his chest. He felt Matthew relax just the slightest.

"There we go. That's better. Baby steps, right?" Alfred smiled, his voice jesting. "Now, if only I could get you to look at me!" He felt his brother's shaking stop for a moment, as if he were holding his breath for Alfred to continue.

He persisted with light teasing tone, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Heh, I know I'm not the prettiest bell at the ball, but a glance up every once in a while can't hurt'cha!"

Alfred paused, lightly squeezing his twin's shoulder. His tenor turned soft to further assure Matthew. "It's all cleaned and covered and everything, see? And I can move my head so you can't see too much of it if it bothers you-"

Matthew began to hyperventilate.

"Mattie? What's wrong?" Alfred panicked, gushing, "I was just kidding, Matt! Please don't freak out! I was joking, you know how stupid my jokes are! Stupid, Stupid! It's okay, you don't have to look at anything, I swear! I'm sorry! Please don't cry!"

Matthew heaved torrent after torrent of heavy, tearless sobs; Alfred didn't stop him when he pulled away this time. He hovered nervously, an aching expression pressed against his face.

As his brother resumed his previous closed position, Alfred let loose a frustrated sigh, knocking his head loudly against the wall he rested alongside. A low thud reverberated through the room, and he felt the tender wound on his crown sting.

After a quiet moment, he spoke more to himself than anyone, slow and solemn.

"God, what a horrible brother I'm turning out to be, eh, Matt? Next time I open my mouth, just go ahead and smack me, 'cause nothin' good'll come from my blathering…" Alfred let a taut smirk fall across his face, his jaw tightening.

"Some hero I am…This entire trip's gone to hell thanks to me and my big m-"

"Don't."

A thick voice startling him from his musings, Alfred looked towards his brother, shocked to see him staring back with wide, wet eyes. The pained expression contorting his features tore at Alfred's heart.

"Mattie…" Alfred reached towards him, sliding as much as his leg would allow. Matthew simply shot back further, shaking his head violently. The regret in his voice was unbearable as he shuttered out another whispered phrase, his tone cracking at the edges.

"N-No. Don't…" Matthew swallowed thickly, his jumbled words transforming into dense sobbed phrases as he continued. "Al…you. I-I…Your—my fault. You can't…" As the words became indecipherable, Matthew's glance wavered, falling to the trembling fingers. Alfred tried to move towards him again, taking cautious, measured actions this time.

If he made noise in his approach, Matthew didn't notice. The distraught boy's mouth continued to open and close, even with no recognizable sound emanating save a low, guttural moan, his attention elsewhere. Carefully Alfred drew Matthew's hand from his lap, resting it in his own. With a light squeeze, he spoke.

"Matt, I know you're scared. This is a scary situation. I don't want you so upset, it's not good. I want to help. Tell me what's wrong…"

A single, bitter laugh slid through Matthew's lips at this, surprising his brother. Was he hysterical? It'd been a long day, and even if he had passed out…That bump on his head, could it have damaged something serious? Countries may be durable, but some things—

Alfred's thoughts died as Matthew began to speak again, his voice so quiet he nearly missed it entirely. The speech still wavered, but he seemed more composed than before.

"Why?" The word rang with an air of disbelief and frustration. Confused, Alfred cocked his head to the right. Blinking, he questioned his brother's implication.

"Why what? How do you mean, Matt?"

There was a long pause.

Just as Alfred began to wonder if he should repeat himself, Matthew spoke.

"Why…Why would you want to help? How could you…How could you possibly want to help..." he swallowed thickly before continuing, "…help me?...After…not after what I've…after what I've done…" Matt began to pull his fingers from his brother's hold, only to have them gripped tighter. Alfred, thoroughly bewildered, stared at Matthew for a moment before speaking.

"What on earth are you talking about, Matt? You haven't done anything since you woke up. Why would I ever not want to help you? You're making no sense. What's it that's got you so bothered?"

Matthew looked at him then, his eyes singed with anguish and resentment, his voice rising a degree as he spoke.

"You act as if you don't know! As if you don't care, or things are just the same as they always have been. You can't possibly believe I've done nothing wrong, Alfred. You can't…" Matthew's voice broke then, his eyes shifting downwards to rest on his lap once more. He pulled his arm from Alfred's grip as he continued, staring at his outstretched fingers with disgust.

"…you can't possibly…not after everything….everything I've…" a low sob broke his voice, finishing his thoughts for him. Matthew curled back into himself.

Alfred stared speechlessly at his quivering brother. With a gasp he finally pieced Matthew's words together. He had never expected his brother to remember what had transpired last night, let alone take responsibility for it. Was this what had him so torn up? He blamed _himself_ for what that monster had done?

"Mattie. You're not saying…You think this is…your fault?" Alfred touched his cheek lightly (it was so tender still, so raw…), noting the movement went unnoticed by the other party. Signing, he shifted so he knelt facing Matthew. Resting a hand lightly on his brother's knee, Alfred continued, tilting his head to the side to catch Matthew's eye as he spoke.

"Hey. Don't be stupid, Matt. You didn't do anything, understand me? That monster got to us both."

Alfred noted the calm pall that slid over his brother's face, his demeanor changing from tensed to relaxed in nearly an instant, his trembling ceasing and his tightly scrunched eyelids becoming slack. Believing his words of encouragement to be working, he continued, a small smile lighting on his features.

"Trust me when I say this, Mattie, you couldn't hurt a fly, even if you had a reason for it. You're too nice for your own good." Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand once again, grinning down at it as he felt his brother grab back.

"Is that so?"

The smile stretched across Alfred's face fell as the even words broke the quiet around them.

Focusing his gaze upward, Alfred looked with incomprehension to his brother, whose face was shaded in a cowl of darkness, his eyes closed, a cynical smirk twisted on his lips. Alfred felt the grip around his hand tighten.

"…Because if I recall correctly, _dear brother_, it was these hands which sliced out that pretty little eye of yours. It was these hands that crushed it into nothing. I'm fairly certain that's **something**."

Bile rose in Alfred's throat. The dark grin widened.

"After all, it's not right to deny credit where credit is due."

The face lifted. The person beaming cruelly back at him was no longer Matthew. It was something else, something it'd been the night before. It's dark, flat eyes glinted with malice as he felt the clutch on his hand squeeze tighter. Alfred searched for his lost voice while the hold on his hand continued to constrict, the beginnings of discomfort setting in.

"M…Matt-" his angry stuttering was halted by a dark laughter emanating from his bother's lips. The man's dark smile widened as he glared viciously at Alfred through Matthew's features.

"Oh yes, Matthew agrees with me, don't you worry. Though he doesn't seem to associate me with anything that went on. He believes it to be all his doing. Curious indeed. Though I'm more than willing to reinforce his perception of events now…"

Alfred wrenched his hand from the numbing grip, shuffling to a stand away from Not-Matthew. A deranged giggle escaped from the seated man's lips.

"What are you planning to do, dearest _brother_? Even without your injuries, do you really think you could bring yourself to strike _me_?" He glared up at Alfred, his smirk twisting, his voice mimicking Matthew's fear from not minutes before. "Oh Alfred, I'm so sorry! Please don't hurt me! I d-d-didn't mean it!"

A low growl escaped from the standing brother's clenched jaw, his hands tightening to fists. "Shut up! Just shut the hell up!" More dark laughter rose at this.

"Oh, what's wrong **Al**? Is something bothering you? Because you can always tell your dear brother. I'll _always_ be here for you." Slowly the figure rose from the floor, his sinister grin glinting malevolently. Alfred began to back away, his livid tone wavering just the slightest as he spoke.

"Leave him **alone**."

"Oh dear, it sounds like you've lost your edge. Isn't that a shame. Did it leave with your eye?" The smile took on an innocent tenor. Alfred strengthened his resolve, continuing to inch backwards.

"Get the fuck out of my brother!"

"And just who'll make me, eh?" The playful words tinted darkly, the puppet continuing with blacker meaning behind them, "This is my soul now, Alfred _dear_. Matthew belongs to me, and you will **never** have him back."

Alfred stopped where he was, rage shaking through every pore in his body. He nearly attacked the man, threw away everything he was working so hard to distract him for…

Instead, he rushed for the door, slamming it fiercely and effectively locking the monster in. A furious shout of revelation could be heard from behind it, followed by heavy pounding that shook the doorframe.

It didn't matter, he wouldn't be getting out any time soon. The door was thick, and the key held tightly in his pocket made certain it would remain locked. Thank god for old paranoid cabin builders.

Alfred let his legs give out beneath him, attempting to calm his speeding heart and halt the angry tears flowing down his cheeks. He felt like an utter coward, leaving his brother that way. It felt wrong. But he knew if he'd tried to subdue him himself, the monster would have been quick to take him down. Despite his demeanor, Matthew was just as strong as he was, when he wanted to be. And with his own body in such bad shape…

Exhausted, frustrated, he slumped against the adjacent wall, allowing his eyes to dip closed, the angry shouts fading into distant recollections as he entered a dream realm far from cabins and shadow beasts.

* * *

The ways of Slenderman are complicated. Hopefully by the end of this, my idea of how he operates (in my brain cannon) will make sense. Or not. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.


	6. Encounters

Sorry for taking longer to post this time, guys, more computer problems. I think the chapter came out pretty good, over all, though, and it's as long as the last one, if not longer. Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

The quiet roar engine was the only sound that broke the silence between the two worried countries as they sped down the deserted road.

Arthur fidgeted nervously, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Francis sat stiffly in his seat, staring diligently out the window, deep in thought. The Briton, fed up with the numbing atmosphere of the vehicle, broke the silence with an irritable mummer.

"Don't understand why you blasted idiots can't seem to figure out how to drive. I may be practiced, but it's no walk in the park swapping road sides whenever I cross a damn border…" The Frenchman simply continued staring out the window, his response preluded by a sigh.

"That is the fifth time you 'ave mentioned that in the past two 'ours, you know. It's less convincing when one 'as heard it several 'undered times."

The shorter man huffed, rolling his eyes. Arthur heard Francis shift and felt his gaze fall on him. The car was swept with soundlessness again.

"What?" Arthur snapped, glancing over with a glare. He noticed a small, sad smile flitter over the Frenchman's features before his eyes refocused on the road.

"Do not worry, _Angleterre._ The boys will be fine. Alfred is a strong one; no matter what 'appens, 'e will make sure both 'e and _Mattieu_ are safe…" His voice slipped near the end; attempting to convince himself of it as well? Arthur wasn't sure. Heat filled his throat despite himself, and he clutched the steering wheel harder in response.

"Why the bloody hell would the Pillock make such a ruckus over this, then? You know how he is; always pretending to be some blasted savior of the damn universe or the like. If things were _alright_, why would he bother to call me, Frog?" As Arthur steadied his breathing, Francis left his question to hang in the still air.

Arthur felt a light touch rest on his shoulder, and heard his companion sigh softly.

"Alfred is stronger than you believe him to be, my friend. Do not put him from the count just yet." With a gentle squeeze, Francis released him and moved back to the statued position he'd held previous.

Noting a small worn dirt path looming ahead, Arthur slowed to a stop. He felt Francis brace himself as the car gave its final jolt. Remembering Alfred's departing words much too clearly, Arthur double checked the car locks. With a nervous exhale, he reached for his mobile phone resting in the center consol.

* * *

Alfred awoke to a shrill ring reverberating about the empty house. It took him a minute to recognize exactly what it was that begot the sound, his eyes squeezing tighter in effort to ignore it. When he finally did jump to his deadened feet with panicked recognition, the sound had stopped.

Dammitdammit_**dammit**_.

Hobbling to the kitchen as quickly as he could, Alfred grabbed the phone, knowing it was a pointless effort. After a few questioning hello's, he dropped the mouthpiece back on the receiver, frustration seeping in. Had he missed Arthur's call? What would-

Another sharp ring echoed though the kitchen, startling Alfred for a second before he snatched the phone up.

"Arthur?"

"Bloody right it's me, you daft git! Finally ready to pick up, are you? Been ringing this phone for a good 10 minutes now. How am I supposed to get instructions from someone so perfectly dippy they can't even be bothered to follow their own prerequisite, _mm_?" Alfred brushed the small man's snide comments aside as relief swept him. Finally. They were finally here.

"Are your doors locked?" a serious tone suppressing his respite; business before anything else.

"Of course, Yank. I'm not a complete fool. Unlike you, I listen when I'm requested to do something."

"Good. You will need to keep an eye on them when you approach. I'm not exactly sure if he can do anything to them or not. Just, be on the lookout."

"Care to enlighten us as to what we will be looking out **for**? After all, we have come several hundreds of thousands of miles without so much an inkling to what we will be facing." He could hear Arthur's anger, despite his efforts, slip from him as his questioning continued. Sighing, and knowing this would be the most difficult part, Alfred cleared his throat.

"There's…Well, there's a guy…"

"Yes, yes, we've heard this already. What is different about him, though? He cannot be human, not with all these precautions."

"No…no he's not. He can…do things. It's difficult to explain. He's done something to Mattie, I can't…just…you'll see when you get here." Alfred paused. "Look, what's important is when you see the cabin, I want you to pull up as close as you can to the door. I have to unlock it first, so don't get out of the car until I tell you to."

Francis' voice skittered through the speaker now, much lighter than Arthur's. They must be using speakerphone.

"Why do we need to come in? What is keeping you from getting into the car and us driving away? You say _Mattieu_ is…indisposed at the moment. Why can you not grab him and flee from this place?"

"Because…things are complicated. Please, just get here. I will need to distract him, so you need to do everything I say. Call me back when you see the cabin."

"We will. Don't do anything stupid, git. The last thing I need is to have to worry over your health as well as Matthew's." A sharp chuckle escaped Alfred's teeth at that, a reluctant smile spreading over his face.

"I'll try, old man. Just get here quick, 'kay? I will pickup this time, promise. Talk to you guys soon."

A gruff 'yeah' sounded from the phone, followed by a tense '_oui'_. Alfred nodded to himself and hung up the phone.

Now for the distraction.

* * *

The Slenderman hovered outside the wide window, his irritation rising by the second. His puppet awkwardly displayed the same growing dissatisfaction, pacing the small room as he had for the past half hour.

He had the boy tear apart the room in search for a means of escape, but he relented after a short time; he could not find it on his own, and he knew, _knew_ the man would return for his brother eventually, bringing the precious key with him.

Slenderman had tried to watch his prey, track where he was in the blasted wooden shack, but he did not appear in any windowed room. He suspected the boy was curled up in front of the door, frantically plotting what he could do next, hiding from pure terror. This brought an invisible smile to his blank face. His marionette smirked back through the glass reflexively.

A sharp knock startled him from his thoughts, and his pawn hovered closer to the source as commanded. After a breath, a voice flittered through the heavy door.

"Mattie? Mattie, are you there?" it whispered, fear evidently lacing its sound. His grin returned on the blonde's features.

Compelling the boy to resume an air of innocence, he forced a string of words laced in artificial fright from the puppet's lips, "A-Alfred, what's going on? I…I can't get out. Why can't I get out of this room?"

The silence returned, and his toy beamed wider. He was buying it, the brother was. A few more whimpers and he would have him. Then he could end this ridiculous tirade and enjoy these two's souls in peace. He hoped they would be just as delicious as he imagined, with all the work he had put into this already.

Slenderman willed Matthew to find a heavy object to bash in his brother's head with when he (certainly) opened the door with their key. When he finally chose a bookend as their weapon, the monster smiled predatorily at the doorway, speaking again through his doll.

"Alfred?...Are you still th-there?" throwing in a false sob for good measure, he continued, doing his best not to chuckle, "I-I'm afraid…please…" After another moment, a thick voice responded softly.

"Don't worry, Matt. Everything's gonna be okay. I can't let you out right now, though. I'm sorry."

"What?" Slenderman hissed sharply through Matthew's lips, forgetting himself. Anger seized him again. It was enough to bring the other man standing in the hall to his senses, apparently, because a growl of recognition sounded from behind the door.

"You're not Matt." His voice was dark, a low snarl accompanying it. Through the silence, haughty laughter echoed in the room.

"Of course I'm not, foolish boy. I hope you don't honestly believe your brother will be coming back to you ever again. You both will-" The slamming of a car door stopped him from continuing. Turning his head sharply behind him revealed nothing. There was no one for miles. How could there be-

The front door. Rushing around the side of the house, he made it just in time to see the obstacle which had held him at bay for _two days_ slam shut. Kicked from the door was a single shoe, one which held it open for more to seek asylum from him in the retched hut.

Letting loose a feral scream, he raced back to the large living room window, back to his only link to entering the vile place and retrieving what he so desperately desired from it.

* * *

Panting, the two men who stood in the doorway bent over, catching their breath, glanced at each other as an angry howl racked the house. After a pause, they continued deeper inside.

It appeared all the doors that led off the hallway were closed. Trying one, the Englishman realized it to be locked and let his hand hang slack against his side. Breathing a heavy sigh, he turned to Francis.

"What the bloody hell was that thing?" Arthur muttered, finishing in a rush, "I just saw a glimpse of it, but that was **no** man. Nor anything that could ever be compared to such."

"I do not know, _Angleterre_. Per'aps we do not want to know, _non_?" Arthur was about to snap back at the man with a 'of course they needed to know, how else were they to destroy the thing, bloody toad' before the words caught dead in his throat. A dark shadow sat at the end of the hallway, leaned up against the blackness of the closed door, it's back turned towards them.

Hearing their footfalls shudder to a sudden stop, a face turned towards them in the dim hall.

Recognizing Alfred's elated features, Arthur relaxed. He watched the boy stand and turn to meet him, and immediately noticed an obstruction over the right side of his face.

"Hey! I thought you guys weren't gonna make it there for a second!" Arthur snorted, and strode forward to meet the man halfway, only to trip over a cord that ran from under the nearest door into the hall. Francis caught his upper arm and righted him, much to the distaste of the rumpled Brit. Glancing down, he noted it was a telephone cord.

"Why on earth is there…" the distaste in his words faded as he looked back up to Alfred, who was much closer now. He could see from where he stood the child was not in the best shape. He appeared to be trembling, despite his demeanor, and leaning heavily on his right leg. Was something wrong with the other one? And his eye…it was covered….why was it covered?

Arthur closed the distance between them quickly when the boy tried to stumble forward to meet him. Bracing the blond against himself, he settled Alfred back to the floor, his gaze never wavering from the white gauze taped over his right eye.

"Lad, what happened?" he whispered, reaching forward to gently prod Alfred's face. The boy turned the side away from him, a nervous smile coming over it in effort to shift Arthur's attention.

"Nothing that we need to deal with right now. We've got more important things to worry about at the moment. Mattie-"

A large bang ricocheted off the door Alfred sat next to, startling them all to silence. A screech of rage could be heard over the heavy shuffling on the other side of it.

"Who is there with you? I saw them enter, don't hide them from me! What are you planning, boy? Answer me, dammit!" As the loud crashes continued, Alfred's expression shifted to one of revulsion. Francis, who stood quietly at a distance before now, shifted forward to kneel against the door, his wide eyes peering into Alfred's.

"Is…Is that…" a bare whisper slid from his parted lips. Alfred just nodded. The prisoner kicked the door again, with enough force to break a toe or two, growling.

"You will regret this. You will loose your other eye for daring to mock me, you little beast. I will make _sure_ of it."

Arthur choked, looking back up at Alfred, who avoided his gaze. Francis' voice, heartbroken, sounded loud enough for the monster to hear through the door.

"_Mon petite_, what is it you are saying? That you…That Alfred-" A bitter cackle cut off Francis, becoming nearly hysterical before continuing.

"I see now. _Francis_, is it? You've had quite an effect on this one, haven't you? My, my. Did our dear Alfred bring you here to save himself? Poor, pathetic boy. He has nothing left, does he? Lost everything dear to him…

"Or at least he will. Don't worry boy. You will keep your life when I finally get in there, for a short while, at least. Take heart, though. You get to watch your precious loved ones be taken one by one. They are all **mine**, I hope you realized that when you involved them. You will suffer dearly for what you have put me through…"

Arthur shook furiously, the shock of the situation coming full circle. "You will not lay another finger on him, you wretched creature. Mark my words, you will regret what you've already done to the _both_ of them."

More wicked laughter leaked through the doorway. He could almost see the smile engraved on the monster's face, _Matthew's_ face…

"Arthur. I see you have come as well. Are there any more of you cretin? Sound off now while you'll still be offered a quick death." Alfred struggled to stand, having apparently reached his limit. He shrugged Arthur off when he grabbed for him, intending to pull the boy back down.

"No one will be dying. Now give us back Matthew. Now."

"Oh but darling boy, have I not told you ALREADY? You must learn to listen better!" The syrupy tone dropped to one of possessiveness and hate, "Matthew is **mine** now. He is _never_ coming back. The only reason I released him before was so he could revel in what he'd done to you, and now that I am bored of his pitiful reaction, I will be keeping him _very_ close.

"Besides…he prefers it this way. It's like he's dreaming. He doesn't have to think about the horrible things he's done. Now he's at peace. Don't you want what's best for your brother, Alfred? Don't you want him to be happy?"

"He's done nothing! It's all been you. You're the one. Not him. _You_." Alfred's fist clenched as he glared through the door at the unseen force. The strong trembles that racked his body worried Arthur. They were quickly loosing control of the situation. He needed to step in before it was too late.

The creature on the opposite side of the door giggled manically. "Oh you think so? Because if I remember correctly it was his hands that did all the tearing—I'm pretty sure that constitutes him 'doing' something." Arthur saw the boy shake with rage against the doorframe, only succeeding in making him look less balanced.

"Shut the hell up! You'r-"

"Alfred." Arthur stood to get the boy's attention, but it did no good.

"-ou're the one controlling him! You're the one-"

"Alfred. Stop," he tried again.

"-who made him do those things! You-"

"ALFRED." Arthur's tone finally caught the boy's attention, and he stopped his ranting to glower down at the man. Arthur continued in a hushed whisper before he could protest.

"Things are beginning to get out of hand. Now is not the time for any of this. I know you are…upset," Arthur cast a guilty glance towards his covered eye, biting his lip. "…but we need to think things through. Let's regroup away from him and collect ourselves. Alright?"

Alfred, stiffened through the whole conversation, finally relented, an agitated sigh passing through his closed jaw. "Fine, you're right. Let's go to the bathroom; there's no window in there." He began to shuffle forward, gripping the wall for support. Arthur moved to help hold part of his weight, but he waved the older man off.

"I'm fine, I don't need any help. 'Been doing this by myself already, I haven't suddenly become an invalid, Arthur." The shorter man simply glared up at him, his large brow hovering precariously over his slit eyes.

"Don't be foolish, boy. This is exactly why we've come. Now give me your arm." They stared at each other for a long moment, before Alfred relented with a roll of his eyes (eye! Arthur chided himself, a wave of disgust fettering over him for a short moment with an internal shudder), finally conceding to the outstretched hand. With a soft smile, Arthur braced the child's weight and patted his back reassuringly.

"Here's a good lad. Now where is this bathroom-"

"What, coward, leaving so soon? With all that preaching you did earlier, I thought you'd put up more of a fight before you ran away with your tail between your legs. Do you not concerned for your precious Matthew then, after all? Won't be nearly as fun devouring his soul if there's no one to care I do so…" The voice laughed arrogantly on the other side, drawing a growl from Alfred and he turned to hobble back towards the beast. Arthur held him tight.

"Alfred. Now is _not_ the time," he scolded in a hushed whisper, glancing over his shoulder to look to the Frenchman for backing. Francis stood close behind, looking at the laughing doorway with red eyes.

"Even Francis realizes that. Now come along."

Whether he relented or was just too tired to put up a fight, Alfred pushed forward with Arthur as they reached the bathroom door; it was the only one that remained open in the long hall. Ushering the boy over to the small stool that sat near the entrance, Arthur lowered Alfred down onto it carefully.

Francis meandered in behind them, and Arthur quickly shut the door, effectively muffling the loud hysterics that rang down the dark entry. Silence filled the room, and this time it was Francis who dare break it.

"Alfred…what 'as 'appened to _Mattieu_?"

* * *

Well, there it is. This is the point in the story where I get excited about. I don't know if it's because they're finally all together and can move towards the solution, or if it's just better than the rest, but whatever it is, I like it. More to come. ^^


	7. Capture

Alright, another chapter!

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

As he let out a long, drawn sigh, Alfred hid his face in his palms. He felt Arthur kneel down next to him, resting a hand on his knee and squeezing it lightly. He sighed again, looking pointedly at the Brit, but made no move to remove the touch. Francis began again, his voice seeped with worry.

"Alfred, what 'as 'appened? This is…This is not _Mattieu_ in there. What is wrong with 'im?" Alfred looked towards Francis, only to regret it. The pain in his eyes was tangible, and he shied away before he answered.

"He…That _**thing**_ did something to him. He's controlling him, using his body some how. I tried to…to warn him before…he left for groceries, we had only packed enough for the trip up…I…It got him before I could stop it…" Inhaling deeply, he persisted.

"I brought him into the house, but he wasn't responsive. His eyes wouldn't close, and I couldn't get him to talk to me or blink or nothing…I was afraid he…" Alfred swallowed thickly before continuing, "He was still breathing when I checked, but he didn't seem right. He…well, later that thing had Mattie wack me over the head with a pipe something good…He wanted the key, to get in…I told him…Well, you know me. Obviously my mouth kinda backfired on me this time…" Alfred let out a tight laugh. He saw Arthur turn a shade paler.

"He let Mattie go for a while, but I don't know why. I didn't think Matt'd be able to remember anything he did with him, he was so out of it…" Alfred looked down. If their conversation before that monster got him again meant anything, his brother **did** remember, at least some of it. And he blamed himself. If this morning was to say anything about his reaction to all this, Alfred knew the longer that thing was in control of Matt, the worse off he'd be. He must be so terrified…

"We need to get Mattie. I don't trust leaving that creature alone with him. I wouldn't put it past him to try something. He's getting desperate." An audible hiss escaped Francis' lips, and Arthur glanced at the closed door with a worried expression. Regaining his composure an instant later, the short man cleared his throat.

"So what's you're plan? I'm sure you've got one. You wouldn't have mentioned it if you didn't." Alfred felt a wide smile slide across his face despite himself. Of course he had a plan. What did they take him for, an amateur? The hero always had a plan on hand, no matter how strange the situation. And this sure was a strange one.

"Thought you'd never ask, old man. Don't worry, I've got just the thing…"

The two older countries glanced at each other, dread evident over their features.

* * *

The Slenderman let out a frustrated growl, echoed by the young man seated in front of the thick door blocking his way. The blasted blonde and his pitiful 'rescue' had held themselves from view for the past 20 minutes. The boy was smart enough to keep from sight, that was certain. But he would come, the monster knew it. The wretch was too sentimental towards the one he kept already. And when he did, he would keep them all…

A muffle of voices flittered through the barrier, only allowing strings of words to pass through unscathed.

"…out of…mind…foolish…always…this…not a game…Alfred!...listening?...get yourself…want that?..."

He moved his doll forward, forcing him to lean against the door for better inquiry. The pawn had already identified the voice as belonging to the short one with large eyebrows in his memory. Arthur, _England_, he supplied. Another voice spoke, this time clearer.

"_Angleterre_ is right, Alfred. You are in no condition to-" A hushed snap cut off the one this body knew as Francis.

"I know what I'm doing. Don't treat me like a cripple. I'll be fine." Slenderman held back an angry grunt. That voice was one which he needed no help identifying the source to. He heard the short one speak again, apparently annoyed by the little beast as well.

"Don't be stupid, boy. You are going to get yourself in worse shape by playing around like this. There's no reason you of all people need to be involved, not with all you've been up to the past few days. Francis and I are perfectly capable of-"

"I said I could handle it. The last thing we need is him hurting himself when we do this. He can't this way. Now. I'm going in, end of discussion." With that he proceeded to pound on the door, knocking the crouching man listening by the entry back with a start and surprising the shadow hovering outside with its suddenness.

"Hey. I'm coming in, so don't try anything stupid," the man's voice bounded from the door, ringing in the marionette's ears, forcing the Slenderman to pull back from the door further still. Why must the brute be so damn loud?

By the time the words caught up with their meaning, the door had cracked open just the slightest. Now was his chance. He could get that blasted key from the slime's hands before he knew what was coming. What a fool. He should have listened to his friends. Stupid, stupid boy. He would make him regret his decision. A smile wound its way onto the blonde's face as the creature outside forced him to stand.

When the child finally stepped into the room, he couldn't help note the lack of weapon. He was making this too easy! His toy's grin widened, taking a step towards his brother.

"What lovely timing, I was beginning to grow bored. Have you finally come back to finish our game, _brother_?" The other boy sneered, disgust heavy in his voice.

"Don't you dare call me that, you creep. I haven't come back to talk to you. I want to speak to Mattie." Despite the confidence lacing his tone, the boy shifted awkwardly to the side of the door, his glare bouncing back between Matthew and the figure hovering outside the window.

He had him. He would isolate him away from the door, then take him and use him to get the others. His puppet's smirk grew, teeth peaking from the corners of his mouth.

Pacing equal strides around their imaginary circle, the other twin began to laugh with his master's mirth. "You can't actually believe I would allow this, boy." More sidesteps. The other mirrored them. "Your brother is gone. Do not think you will ever see him again. He belongs to _me_ now."

A long silence hung in the heavy air, only punctuated by the odd gauche step and its sister. Each glared at the other, the stare down becoming unbearable as they shifted their way around the room. Nearly there…

Finally, the boy straightened, relaxing ever so slightly. His back now faced Slenderman, his full attention on his shadow in the room.

"What if I offered you a deal?" The monster couldn't help but be taken aback by this.

"What?" was all he could force through his shock. What possibly could this wretch offer him?

"I want Mattie back. You want the key so you can get into the house. Why not trade?" Excitement got the best of the creature peaking through the glass, and he allowed his parallel standing in the room to loosen his ready stance, an eager question slipping through his lips.

"Really?"

Through his other's eyes, he saw a dark smile slide across the opposite man's features, a light laugh echoing in the room.

"No. You really think I'm that stupid?"

The door burst open, slamming into his pawn's back and knocking him to the ground. Instantly two other bodies fell on him, restraining any struggle he could put up before they bound his arms tightly behind him. The shadow was so taken off guard he barely noticed his body's brother glaring back at him through the thick pane.

With a swift pull, Alfred yanked the curtains closed.

* * *

While restraining Matthew was no problem at all, his behavior post confinement was another thing entirely.

"You will rue this day! I will make sure each of you suffer for your insolence! How dare you cretins even think of touching MY vessel! YOU WILL PAY, I SWEAR IT!"

Alfred leaned against the overturned couch (no doubt in its current state due to a similar tantrum thrown by the beast holding his brother against his will) as Francis and Arthur fawned over the screaming boy. Francis looked near tears. His attempts to bring Matthew around in French had only increased the venom of each response sent his way, so now he only tried in broken English.

"_Mon petite_, you must listen to us! Come now, think! We are 'ere to 'elp. You are strong. Break from this monster who 'olds you." Francis rested a hand lightly on the boy's face, turning it to look at his. With a snarl, Matthew nipped at it, spitting for good measure after missing. A strangled sound slipped from Francis' throat as he drew away.

Arthur busied himself checking the binds, making sure that they were tight enough, but not so tight as to stop the blood from entering the boy's outer limbs. This required more rope placed in a wider range of locals, including around his chest and shoulders to hold him back against the chair he was now tied to.

Alfred couldn't help feel a twinge of guilt as he looked on at his brother struggling futilely against the binds. His fingers scrapped the empty air, clawing for anything foolish enough to get close enough for him to tear at.

The American stood; it looked as if Francis was beginning to crack, and he knew it was time to relieve him before he got much worse. Placing a hand gently on the shoulder of the pleading man, Alfred caught his attention.

"How about you take a break there? The room needs pick the rest of the way up, and right now I can't do some of the heavier stuff. Mind taking care of that for me?" Flashing a small smile as he spoke his tiny lie, Alfred squeezed the frazzled man's shoulder lightly. Francis' frown deepened, but he nodded and moved to do as asked without another word.

Staring fiercely down at the one bound the chair (the chair he had not long ago been bound to himself, he thought bitterly), Alfred moved around to halt Arthur's nervous fidgeting; the monster's cries of retribution had ceased, with no one paying him mind, forcing the creature wearing Matthew's face to occupy his time simply glaring at those who dare look his way. Looking back towards Arthur, Alfred scowled; this had to be at least the twelfth time the older man had check the same knot.

"I think he's set, Artie. Shouldn't be able to get out of those. Good job there." When the smaller man looked up, he seemed more anxious than when he was messing with the ties. Once again taking on the role of comfort-bringer (one he was so very unaccustomed to previous), he tried again to reassure the older nation.

"It's alright, Arthur. He'll be fine. Just let him be for a while. Who knows? Maybe he'll come to all on his own. Let's concentrate on cleaning up for a while, yeah? It'll give us a chance to 'clear our heads'." Arthur pierced his lips at the phrase straightening; a false note of resignation filtered through his shaky tone as he spoke, hands moving to rest angrily on his hips. Alfred did all he could to suppress the giggle bubbling up his throat at the Briton's ridiculous posture.

"Since when do you get off ordering others around, child? I do believe I am perfectly capable of seeing what does and does not require my attention, _thank you kindly_." Sarcasm leaked through his words, strengthening them as he finished his spiel. Nevertheless, Arthur strode toward the mantelpiece and began straightening the shelves superciliously. Alfred suppressed another laugh and turned to help the others, picking up a rather heavy bookend and hobbling towards Arthur.

When the small man did notice him, he immediately ordered Alfred sit on the now righted couch, snatching the lead weight with ease and slinging it up onto the ledge he'd just positioned. Alfred refused, defiantly bending down to pick up another bookend from the floor.

Two minutes later, he grumbled to himself on the couch, rubbing his stinging ear.

Arthur couldn't help the snide smirk forming on his lips as he listened to the boy pout behind him.

* * *

Well, here's more moving the plot forwarding stuff. Yay! Francis' perspective next chappy! Fun times…


	8. Peradventure

Alright, chapter 8! Sorry it's taking me longer for updates, I've had several large tests lately, and several more to come, so I'm pretty backed up at the moment. But I'm getting there, and hopefully I can post more regularly in the future.

Lol, side note! My sister has oddly enough taken an interest in my story as of late, and she happened to glance at my reviews and demand I send a message to you all. So here goes. My sister wants more love for Alfred; says you guys aren't giving him enough for all he's been through (eye gauged out, leg stabbed up, hit in the head twice, AND psychological damage [or so she believes, I won't say if there is or isn't]). She says "No more 'Poor Mattie's! Canada gets enough love! What about Alfred? What about his love?" XD

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

It had been nearly an hour on the dot before it occurred.

The three of them sat around the small coffee table bent over in whatever seats they had managed to find, each clutching a set number of cards. Francis, seated on a stray dinner chair, cast a wary glance towards the man tied in the corner of the room.

He received a threatening glare in return.

Shifting his eyes back to his hand, the Frenchman told himself shouldn't be surprised; that was all he had gained from looking towards the boy since the beginning of this unbearable wait.

Once the room had been cleaned to the best of their abilities (some things, such as the stained rug in the center of the room, couldn't be helped; it sickened him to think of what had caused it, and he avoided the owner's eye line for a good while after moving the large couch to hide it. The last thing they needed was_ Angleterre _seeing any of that; who knew what could result of it, and now was not a time for uncertainties), Arthur made mention of food, inquiring where the kitchen was.

Much to his relief, Alfred revealed there was not a single crumb of bake-able provisions to speak of in the cabin. Fortunately, he did pull out a smashed granola bar and offered to split it to subdue the small pangs of hunger beginning to bounce around inside his own gut. Francis choked it down despite himself. Now was not the time for complaining. Besides, it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever eaten. And it was a zillion times better than anything _Angleterre_ had forced down his throat.

They had even tried to feed some to the child restrained at the edge of the room. The bit of granola still rested on the carpet where the boy spit it. Francis would have continued to try, despite the bite's that littered his fingers, had the others not forced him into this game of cards to 'pass the time' while they waited the monster out.

His patience were wearing thin. Now was _not_ the time for waiting. Not to him, at least.

The decision to let things run its course unnerved Francis. What if _Mattieu_ never regained himself? What then?

He allowed himself another glance, expecting the same vicious glower he'd received one hundred times this past hour.

Instead he was met with curious eyes.

Francis sucked in a sharp breath and stood instantaneously, dropping his cards on the table haphazardly. He ignored the cries from the other players, his focus only on the boy who looked back at him with such bewildered features. He vaguely heard the others make their way over behind him.

"_Mattieu_? Is…is this you?" he spoke hesitantly, dread poisoning his words. The child simply tilted his head, an unsteady voice flowing from his lips.

"_P-Papa_…? What is going on? Why am I tied? What's…happened?" The terrible pitch of the boy's whispers caused Francis' heart to ache. The Frenchman dropped to his knees and cradled Matthew'shead to his chest; he could feel his own tears begin to flow despite himself, but he didn't move to wipe them.

"_Non, non, mon cher, Papa's_ 'ere, do not worry. You are safe. Everything is okay again." Francis could hear the others behind him breath sighs of relief, and a short, elated 'Mattie!' from Alfred, but he did not focus on them. Murky purple eyes met his own as the boy pulled free of his grasp.

"Can't I be untied? I am so uncomfortable this way…Can you untie me?"

The Frenchman did not see the two standing behind him stiffen, did not feel their unease at the new tone that filtered into Matthew's voice as he spoke of release.

"Of course, _mon petite_, of course. _Angleterre_, 'elp me untie these binds of yours, quickly now. They are 'urting _Mattieu_, 'e says."

When no movement occurred, Francis turned to see what kept them. Both held nervous gazes on the child bound to the chair. Francis frowned.

"Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation? Get over 'ere and untie these knots, _Angleterre_. You and I both know that if I do it, it will end up a tangled mess. Come on, now." The continued to stare anxiously at him and Mattieu. What was wrong with them? Did they not want Mattieu back?

He felt anger begin to rise in his throat as Arthur took a step forward. "Francis…Something is wrong…We can't-"

"You cannot what? Untie 'im? 'E is perfectly fine now, can you not see it? The boy is uncomfortable and frightened,_ Angleterre_. You cannot really leave 'im like this." Glancing quickly back down to check the child in the chair, Francis' glared settled on the other two just as Alfred began to speak.

"Mattie, how are you feeling?" Francis noted he made sure to turn his right side away from the boy as he spoke to him, but didn't dwell on it. At least _Amerique_ was concerned for _Mattieu's_ wellbeing.

"I'm fine, I guess. I just want out of this chair is all. Really, what's a matter? Why won't you let me out? I'm back to normal, aren't I? That should be enough for you."

At those words, Alfred's expression changed instantly to one of distrust. Had they all gone mad? This was _Mattieu_, he was back to his normal self and they were treating him as if he were some criminal!

"Francis, a word over here, please?"

_Angleterre_ spoke with such nervous air, he found it ridiculous! With an irritated huff, he patted the blond hair gently in reassurance, striding irately towards the opposite corner of the room to meet the Englishman.

"What foolishness is this? Why are you tiptoeing around _Mattieu_ as if 'e were ill? 'E is better, can you not see? Just as you said before, to wait it out and 'e would be better. And now 'e is. Why are we discussing this? Can you not see 'e is frightened?" his sharp whisper rose with his angst, causing the Englishman to glance nervously over his shoulder back at the boys.

"Francis, I think something's wrong. Matthew doesn't seem…quite on. Look," Arthur spoke softer, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I know you want this to be over as soon as it can, we all do, but if we rush this, Matthew could get hurt. Do you want that?"

Francis growled, "Of course not! But 'e is-"

"Then just be patient. Matthew will understand our concern. And this way he won't hurt himself if we are wrong about him having his wits back about him. Just wait for a little while longer, an hour or so, then we'll let him be," _Angleterre_ whispered, staring pointedly back at the glaring Frenchman.

Sighing, Francis consented.

"Fine. But after this thing, that is it. I tell you, 'e is fine, you are being too cautious." As they rejoined Alfred and _Mattieu_, and Francis noted the distrusting glower stretched over the standing boy's features; such a strange expression, alien on the American. _Mattieu_ wore a look of bafflement. Scowling, he returned to the bound child's side.

"It's alright, _mon petite_, do not fret. You must stay this way for a little while longer, okay? I know it is unfortunate, but we do not want-" a glare flickered across the boy's face, stalling Francis' train of thought.

"What do you mean, _Papa_? Why will you not let me free? Do I ask too much?" Francis heard a twinge of deeper meaning in the words, but shook it off to answer the question.

"_Non, non_. We will, I promise. We must be sure first-"

"How long? I don't want to sit this way for a long time." The tone suddenly darkened as he continued, "Come, _Papa_, there must be **something** you can do…There are knives in the kitchen; you could get me out that way. At least cut a few of the strings…they are so tight, I can barely breath…Please, _**Papa**_?"

Francis stood aghast for a moment, his eyes boring into the dimness held in _Mattieu's_. They were not his anymore. Snatching his hand from the boy, he shot back from him, a sick feeling twisting his stomach.

"You are not…_Mattieu_. You are not 'im." The darkness glinted more vibrantly now that Francis had identified it, however the man persisted with his charade, tilting his head with perplexity, his dark expression clearly visible through his mask.

"Why _Papa_, what ever do you mea-"

"Do not call me that. You are not _Mattieu_. And you will not be set free as long as you steal 'is body from 'im." Rage shook in his voice as he spoke, the finality of his words ringing through the quiet room.

They stared at each other for a moment longer, before that familiar malicious grin flashed across his, confirming Francis' suspicions. He felt a pain in his heart and let out a soft gasp as the realization hit him; _Mattieu_ was still gone. He felt Arthur rest a hand on his arm to comfort him, but he felt none. Just crushing sadness.

Then the laughter began.

"So you found me out. Too bad, I had thought your love for your boy would compel you to act. I suppose you are more callus than I previously suspected. Poor Matthew. It seems he is surrounded by those who claim to care for him but truly do not." The hysterics intensified.

"Isn't that right, _**Papa**_? Not quite fool enough to follow through with the promises you've made him, eh?" Francis felt England's grip around his arm tighten, but he did not acknowledge it. His fury boiled beneath, consuming any common sense that might have been there otherwise.

"You know nothing! Stop cowering behind a child and fight like a real man!" Alfred chose that time to grab his other arm, and while not as strong as his grip was usually, it was enough to hold the fuming Frenchman back. For them moment.

"Hah. What, like **you**? You are the **embodiment** of cowardice, _Francis_." His eyes narrowed, his smirk turning, if possible, viler than before.

"Even Matthew thinks you are worthless now, dear _**Papa**_."

He wasn't sure what set him over the edge. Perhaps it was the insult, the idea that _Mattieu_ could possibly believe such a thing of him. Perhaps it was the twisted expression forced upon his _Mattieu's_ face, one which never belonged there, never in a thousand years. Perhaps it was addressing him with such a personal air, as if mocking him for his inability to hear the real thing from the captured boy.

Whatever it was, he lost all semblance of reason because of it.

With a feral cry, Francis broke loose of the men holding him back in one smooth movement, and before Arthur could even think to prevent him, Francis sprinted towards the cackling man. With a loud THWACK, time seemed to stop.

Francis stood over the now quiet body, who gazed unfocused off to the side, his cheek a brilliant red. With the offending hand raised past the boy and the other wrapped tightly around the ropes that bound him, Francis panted, features filled with ire. Slowly the unfocused eyes slid up to the face bearing down on him with such hate, staring blankly up at him for only a moment.

Then they rolled back into the child's head, closing limply.

This seemed to break the other two nations from their stupor. Arthur was the first to react, racing over to them and gripping the hand that clenched the rope so tightly, tugging it gently to encourage it to release its prey.

"Francis," he stated cagily, attempting to draw the trembling man back to the present. After another moment, he uncurled his hand, dropping the limp boy back to the floor.

Francis' mind raced, fear following right behind reason as he regained his sense. What had he done? Was this another trick? Did he hurt the child?

Alfred hobbled up behind the Frenchman and went unnoticed until he announced himself with a soft question.

"Is he alright?"

Arthur, checking _Mattieu_ over, looked up.

"Yeah, everything seems to be in order. He looks to be unconscious, though. How hard did you swat the boy, Francis?" Whether he was joking or in need of an accurate answer, Francis could not tell. His mind stuttered to a start again, attempting to piece together some form of response for the man.

"I…I do not know…I did not mean to 'it 'im so 'ard to cause 'im to loose consciousness, that I am certain…"

It was silent again for just a moment before Alfred perked up, his voice almost a cheerful whisper.

"Maybe this is a good thing. When he went back to being normal the first time, he was out for like, twelve hours. What if France disrupted whatever Slenderman was doing to him and now he's lost him again. Maybe when he wakes up he'll be okay!" The excitement in his voice was tangible as he progressed. Francis and Arthur shared a confused look at the word 'Slenderman' before deciding it better not to ask.

With a sigh, Arthur inquired, "So now what?" Alfred paused, glancing towards the sleeping child.

"Well, there's only one thing we can do..."

Joy, thought Francis. More waiting.

* * *

With an exasperated growl, the towering shadow circled the shack again, glaring through the empty windows in the small hope to spot his only link to entrance.

He had let them distract him from his hold over the man's mind for only a split second, but that was enough to destroy all that he had worked so hard to achieve. Now, with the room they remained in shielded from the outside world by thick curtains, he stood no chance at catching the brat's eye again.

Even without direct visual contact, he had still managed to keep some hold of the man, bending him to his will. It was difficult, but not impossible. However, when that blasted Frenchman smacked the body it was enough to force his grip over the boy to fall. He never expected they would hit their own. How could they, sentimental humans? Had he been prepared for an attack, perhaps, but the suddenness of it all…

Hissing angrily at himself, Slenderman slithered around another corner of the house, glaring into the empty room with low hopes. It would be unlikely he would get another opportunity to control Matthew again.

He could still permit small suggestions through the connection he forced into the young one's mind, but it was not the total control he needed, and even the thought of reestablishing such was unlikely, as the boy's family would no doubt be keeping a particularly close eye on him now. If only he could get those blinds open again, he might have a chance…

A snarl ripped from his chest. Cretins would never allow that; too smart for their own good…

Slenderman slowed to stand again outside the only window protecting its inhabitants from his sight. A light shadow reflected over it, and a quick turn revealed that the sun was indeed rising.

This would mark his third day after his original prey. Much too long for his tastes…

* * *

As convincing as Slenderman tries to be, he just doesn't have the heart of a true thespian!

…Though I'm sure he could acquire one… XD


	9. Housekeeping

Alright, another chapter for making you all wait so long (and for future waiting, because I already know it's gonna be a few days before I post again; too many tests in school, I tell you! ). Hopefully it is enjoyable.

* * *

Chapter 9

* * *

Time ticked by so very slowly. It had been nearly 40 minutes since Matthew went under, and little had changed since then. Looking up from his hand, behind the muttering man in front of him (attempting to decide which card would best 'put him in his place'), Alfred glanced at Francis' form.

The Frenchman had drug a second chair next to the other holding the slack figure, and was currently whispering hushed phrases in his native tongue, patting the unconscious boy's leg soothingly as he spoke. If he didn't know better, Alfred would have assumed Francis was holding a two sided conversation, with the enthusiasm lacing his quiet voice as he chattered off to the slumbering child.

Looking back to Arthur as the older man threw down his card with a snide "Aha!" Alfred scratched the irritated right side of his face. It had been itching like no one's business for a few hours now, and the repetitive action was beginning to take its toll. He could already tell it was inflamed just from the heat that brushed his fingertips as he grated them against his upper cheek, being careful not to rub the tender portion of his flesh.

He'd had enough of this. If Alfred didn't get up and check it now, he was sure he'd go insane. Forcing a chagrined smile across his features, he threw his cards face down on the table with a flustered huff, leaning back in his seat.

The superior grin that flashed across Arthur's mug was almost enough to get him to pick them back up. Almost. His face stung bitterly as he widened the false smirk. He needed an excuse. Any would do at this point.

"You win, finally. I was wondering if you'd manage it before the end of the world. Then again, it could just set it off. Do you feel an apocalypse coming on?" Alfred snarked, unconsciously leaning his right side against the small table as he stood. He noted the snide look resting on Arthur's features fall, one of parental concern taking its place. Alfred straightened the best he could, avoiding the Briton's gaze and turned to go.

"What is it you think you're doing?" Rolling his eyes, Alfred raised an eyebrow at the smaller man, shaking his head in a condescending manner with an over-flourished sigh.

"I'm stretching my legs, what's it look like? I don't need your permission to do that, do I, _mom_?" Stifling a laugh at the look Arthur threw him, Alfred swung around and started again for the door before he heard another chair scuff across the floor. Glaring back, he saw Arthur standing to follow him. A loud, annoyed grunt escaped his lips as he did his best to remain intimidating despite the growing ache in his leg and gnawing itch at his face.

"Really? You're _really_ gonna do this?" Arthur just stared at him, concern lacing his features. Narrowing his eyes, Alfred continued in a cutting tone.

"I'm going to the restroom, if you MUST know. Not that it's any of your business." Arthur took a step forward. Alfred blanched.

"Stop it! You can't come!"

He paused for a moment, staring down the other with a level gaze. Exasperated, he tried again, "Oh come on, Artie, I'm not some cripple, I don't need you to hold my hand. It's just down the hallway. Now do you mind?" Alfred motioned him back to his chair, turning sharply and storming out to the door. Or at least he tried to. It came off more as an awkward and rather pathetic looking limp. That didn't keep Alfred from holding his head high as he marched off, though.

The fact that his right side knocked into the doorway didn't help his argument. Swearing lightly under his breath, Alfred continued down the darkened hallway and into the bathroom, slamming the door; he flicked on the dim light. As he routed through the medicine cabinet for the first aid kit, he became aware of the light footfalls outside the room. Groaning, he peaked his head out, glaring at the pacer.

"Do you not understand English? I could have swore that was **your** big thing, Arthur. Why are you being so annoying? I told you, I don't need-"

"That's a complete load and you know it, git. Shoot me for being concerned for your sorry hind, but this is serious. I'm not simply going to sit by and not fret over your wellbeing." He was glaring up at the boy, hands on his hips. "Now let me in or I'll bloody knock the door down and make you take care of Matthew's damages for me."

Arthur pushed the sputtering man aside, knowingly reaching into the medicine cabinet and plucking out the materials Alfred had needed previous. Finding his voice again, Alfred began to protest.

"Arthur, what are you thinking? You can't just burst into a bathroom like that. What if I had been doing something personal, huh? Didja ever think of that?"

The smaller man looked at him pointedly through the mirror, a single caterpillar rising against his brow. Alfred blushed, realizing exactly what jumbled mess had fallen out of his mouth. After a moment, Arthur spoke, a small smile playing on his face as he returned to organizing the supplies.

"I won't dignify myself by commenting over that statement of yours, boy, but I will tell you I'm not a complete fool. And I know well enough you do require help, as much as you deny it." Glancing up, Arthur resumed his direct composure. "Now sit down, will you? You're beginning to sway. The last thing I need is another unconscious tyke to tend to." Huffing, Alfred complied, leaning against the tub with an incensed glower.

With another fleeting look at the mirror, Arthur smirked at the moping country, turning around with a stack of bandages and a bottle of Peroxide, a bemused expression falling across his features. He bent down, laying the objects on the ground in front of him, shaking his head. Alfred could have sworn he heard him mutter something about 'just like a child'. Scowling, Alfred sulked a little more.

Arthur eventually got himself situated on the floor, and balancing on his knees, he lifted his head to the task at hand. Even after his glasses were removed, Alfred could still see the glint of worry reflecting against the man's eyes.

As Arthur pulled at the tape lining Alfred's eye, the numbness that had previously dulled the sting around his eye subsided, and he couldn't help but flinch despite himself.

Arthur paused for a moment, biting his lip. Standing sharply, he grabbed a small wet cloth he'd left draped over the sink and sunk back down to the floor.

The cool of the towel eased some of the itching as Arthur dabbed it around the edges of tape, loosening them. Alfred almost wished he would just let the thing sit on his face, but didn't say anything aloud. The sooner this whole thing was over, the better. He hated being treated like such a _child_…

Peeling the remainder of the medical tape off was no problem, loosened with the water, and Arthur did so without hesitation. He paused when seeing the emptiness that was all that was left of Alfred's right eye. Alfred could see the shock spread over the Englishman's features, and turned away from him, an embarrassed pitch flittering through his words as he spoke.

"You don't need to be doing this. I can take care of myself, been at it for a few hundred years now." Arthur brought his focus to meet Alfred's other eye, shaking his head. He snagged the boy's chin and moved it back into place, pursing his lips.

"Hush up for once and sit still. I don't have the patience to adjust you every twenty seconds." Grabbing the damp cloth, he began wiping around the edges of Alfred's face, working his way slowly into the affected area. His touch was gentle, and it was obvious Arthur was very practiced when it came to this sort of thing. It vaguely reminded the boy of when he was younger, dealing with scrapped knees and cut fingers.

Arthur barely spoke in the time, save for a warning or two of when he brought out the Peroxide, and Alfred didn't bother filling the silence. When Arthur finally put the last piece of tape over the new bandage, Alfred couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. Finally. It was about time.

"You took forever with that thing," Alfred said, sliding his glasses over his nose and blinking as the room came back into focus. "What's it been, two days? I didn't take nearly as long, and I had to do the damn thing with no depth perception! Are you part slug? Because if you are, I would hope you'd tell me. It's pretty important." An annoyed grunt emitted from the standing Brit, now leaning over the sink and rinsing out the pink-tinged washcloth.

"Yes, and did you ever wonder why I had to spend so long on the damn thing, you bender? Could it perhaps be that I was cleaning up what all you're initial detail missed? So impatient…" his words faded off as he glanced up to glare at the boy, taking in his new pose.

Alfred was in the process of standing when a rather annoyed Englishman shoved him back into a seated position. Before he could open his mouth to question the sanity of the man, Arthur issued him a sharp warning.

"What the bloody hell do you believe your doing? We're not finished yet. Now strip off your trousers so I can get a look at your leg. Even the blind would notice that limp you've been sporting. Come now, hop to."

Arthur effectively ended the conversation with a quick turn back to the running water, scrubbing at the towel diligently. Alfred glared for a moment before deciding he was too tired to argue with the man, and wriggled from his pants in an awkward movement. If England did watch him do this, he hid his reaction to the scene well.

Blushing, Alfred draped his pants over his legs, tugging lightly on his boxers to stretch them lengthwise, doing the best to conceal what he could for modesty's sake. When Arthur kneeled back down, he moved the pants with a rueful smirk. "Come now, child, it's not like I haven't seen it all before. Or do you not remember your gallivanting throughout the house in the nude previous to bath time, eh? You were murder to lasso in, that was certain. 'Twas a good thing the neighbors lived so far away…"

His words slowed as his eyes touched the wrapping over Alfred's thigh, still a fairly bright red hue even with being tied off hours ago. Obviously it was still bleeding. Must've nicked the artery. Not that it would kill him, but it certainly wasn't going to be an easy fix. No wonder the thing felt like hell.

Tsking to himself, Arthur began to remove the bandage, muttering a low "When this is all finished with, I need to relearn you to patch up someone, really…"

After cleaning the wound, which was much deeper than Alfred remembered it being ("Oh stop your whining, Alfred, it's only Peroxide; it's _cleaning _it. You don't want an infection, do you?"), Arthur wrapped his leg tightly before tossing the boy his pants and standing to clean the wash towel again.

Lethargisism beginning to set in, Alfred stifled a yawn before noticing the hand extended to him. He ignored it and moved to stand on his own (for a good minute or so) before it tucked under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. Alfred began brewing up a Class A hissy-fit before Arthur cut him off. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately…

"Oh calm down, you wank. I'm not going to stand here for twenty minutes waiting for you to right yourself." Grabbing the door, he motioned for the boy to shuffle through first. With an annoyed mutter, Alfred grunted an aggravated 'Thanks' before hobbling through the open doorway. While he could still feel Arthur hovering over him, he at least didn't smoother him with constant inquiries of his wellbeing.

For now.

As neared the end of the hall, a yell startled the both of them, nearly sending Alfred on his rear, were it not for the reflexive arm that shot out to halt his fall. The urge to shrug it off died at the next words flittered excitedly down the dark hallway.

"Angleterre_, Alfred, be quick. _Mattieu, _'e is awake."_

* * *

Odd. Only chapter in one perspective the whole way through. Also, a bit more back and forth between the characters than before. I'm excited for the next chapter, me thinks…


	10. Momentary

Alright, I finally got this thing up! Sorry, been really busy lately. Hopefully this makes up for it. I think this might be my favorite chapter, but I don't know why….

Also, if an entire dialog is italicized with French thrown into the middle, assume the whole thing is French. I just don't know enough of it to translate entire phrases and plus that would take away from the pacing of the story if you guys had to look up a footnote to understand what's going on, so I just italicized it all. Sorry.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 10

* * *

At first he was disoriented. It felt as if he were floating in a dark ocean of nothingness. It made thinking so very difficult, memories impossible to access…he could barely remember his name…He knew it, but it flittered in and out of the edges of his conscious, taunting him with its presence.

He didn't know how long he floated, just that it seemed like eternity. For a time he wondered if he should panic, to call for help or something, but the weight of the total seclusion prevented him from doing so. There was no point, after all. He was stranded in the nowhere.

But just as he was beginning to loose himself in the emptiness of it all, he felt himself yanked away sharply by an unseen force. It was as if the vast black ocean, which had kept him afloat thus far, was replaced with thin sky, and he was plummeting. He only felt the sensation, for he still saw nothing through the darkness. Faster and faster he fell, nearing the ground, plummeting to his death—

And then he opened his eyes. The bright color he'd nearly forgotten overwhelmed him and he forced himself to shut them again. As the world's volume rose a second later, he recognized a speaker, close to him, his tongue rolling over familiar syllables in a low voice. A particular set brought him caught his attention.

"-_You would not believe it, Mattieu, the arrogance of this man!_"

_Mattieu_. He was Matthew. Matthew Williams. _Canada_. Of course.

Listening to the hushed laughter that emitted from the form beside him, Matthew peeked through his eyes again, slowly this time as to not overcome his retinas with the light leering in despite the thick curtain covering the window. It must have been midday at least.

Matthew noted the position of the orator, and the light pats on his leg rhythmically following each beat of laughter. What on earth was Francis doing here? And why did he feel so unbearably stiff? Matthew shifted, trying to get more comfortable, only to find he couldn't move.

What was going on?

His sudden stirring caught the attention of the older man, and his eyes met Matthew's for a moment before turning wide with shock. A bright smile lit across his face, and he gave a fairly loud shout. Too loud for Matthew's tired ears, that was sure.

Francis scrambled up, rushing to the other side of the room and peered out from the cracked door leading to the hallway. His hallway. They were at his cabin? What was going on?

"_Angleterre_, Alfred, be quick. _Mattieu_, 'e is awake_."_

Matthew heard a sharp gasp from the other side of the door, and rushed shuffling before it burst all the way open to reveal his brother and England. What was going _on_?

Blinking a few more times to clear the dark spots in his vision, Matt tried to shift again, to no avail. Glancing down, he realized he was bound. Quite excessively, actually. Really, what on earth had gone on…

Still fairly out of it, he noted Alfred making a cautious approach. Vaguely, he registered a limp in the boy's step, but didn't question it too much further. Things hadn't begun to make sense yet, so that would just have to wait. He was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the thick ropes.

Stopping a few feet from him, his brother spoke with an uneasy voice (uneasy? Alfred was never uneasy. Something **was** wrong after all…)

"Mattie? Ya there, bud?" Glancing back up to Alfred's face, Matthew took in the features. Something was out of place, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it…

There was a white patch over his eye. _That_ was what was so strange.

Matthew vaguely registered his breath catch as his memory caught up with him, panic constricting his throat. Alfred. This was how he woke up the last time. Why were the elder countries doing here? Had he…?

He distantly noted the others' voices raise an octave as he began to hyperventilate, but his distress stopped him from focusing on it too much.

He must have done something. Something worse than before. What had he done…?

Matthew was brought back to the present by the pressure gripping his shoulders, shaking them back and forth fervently. As he refocused on the sounds he unconsciously drown out, he felt a wetness spill down his face. Blinking, he refocused on the person towering over him.

"Oi! Lad, come on, calm yourself. Matthew, slow your breathing, now. We don't need you passing out on us again." Arthur showed recognition and halted his frantic shakes as Matt attempted to do as he was told, sucking in thick gulps of air to slow his short drags. With a small smile, the Briton continued reassuringly, hidden stress draining from his features.

"There's a good lad. Say there's no need to give the Frog a heart attack over ya, is there? Nasty as the Knobhead is, his weak heart doesn't do him any favors when it comes to these matters," Arthur said in an exaggerated whisper, squeezing the boy's shoulder lightly. Matthew's rapid breathing had slowed to shuddered intakes every so often, with a choked gulp thrown into the mix here and there.

He was bound, _restrained_. England and France were both here. He could only assume to protect Alfred. Good. Good, that was good.

_Why couldn't they have been there sooner, though?_ His heart twisted at the afterthought. It was not their fault. It was his. But if they had been there, maybe Alfred…

Standing from his crouched position, Arthur turned to face the other two men in the room. It seemed they had been ordered to stay back by the smaller man; a disgruntled frown rested on the taller of the two's faces as he reluctantly leaned on the Frenchman for support. Noticing Matthew's stare, Alfred gave a worried glance to Arthur.

"Is he…?"

"Matthew is fine. Just startled from waking up, that's all. Can't rightly blame the poor boy. I think he's come around, though." Arthur turned back to Matt, squatting back down at his side. As he spoke, Matthew tried to will himself to halt the stuttered intakes by holding his breath intermediately.

"Matthew, I know are frightened, but I swear to you nothing will harm you. You are safe, I promise. How do you feel? Do you hurt anywhere?" the older man asked, pressing a hand to his forehead. Seeing Arthur had not meant the questions as rhetorical, Matthew shook his head frantically, trying to swallow an unintentional sob that threatened to creep out.

"Everything, alright, Mattie? Tell Arthur if anything hurts, okay?" The leaning man received a glare from the Briton before continuing, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "Oh, quite down, Old Man, I don't want to hear it. I waited like you asked, and anyway, you said he was just fine now, so there." Arthur huffed, squinting angrily in his direction.

"He may be awake, but that doesn't mean he can't become overwhelmed. Especially with you in your state. At least Francis is intelligent enough to understand that. Really boy, it's not a difficult concept-"

"F-Francis…" Matthew repeated in a broken voice, whether to reaffirm his presence or directly calling for him, he wasn't sure. Nevertheless, the room promptly hushed. After a silent pause, Arthur turned sharply to the doorway, hissing at the Frenchman.

"Toad, will you get over here! Now is not the time for your lollygagging! Come and comfort the boy. Quickly now!" This seemed to snap Francis from his stupor, and with three short strides he was kneeling beside the bound child.

"Shhh, shhh, _mon petite_, _Papa_ is 'ere, do not worry. You are out of 'arm's way now." Soothingly, Francis patted the boy's leg, speaking softly. Matthew stared fearfully up at the man, not for himself, but for the soft, nearly undetectable waiver in the comforter's voice. He could hear the caution, the restraint…Had he done something to Francis?

"Alfred, come sit down before you fall on your face," he heard the low whisper; obviously Arthur did not want to draw his notice. He only half heard Alfred's responding grunt as Francis moved to recapture his attention, wiping his tearstained cheek.

"_Mattieu_, everything is alright. Do not weep, _mon cher_, nothing can 'urt you anymore," the Frenchman's voice thickened as he brushed a stray strand of hair from the trembling boy's eyes.

"Alfred." Matthew started with a tired whisper, a plea begging at the edge of his tone. "He—I…" A small hitch broke his rushed words, allowing for another voice to speak.

"I'm right over here, bud, not goin' anywhere." Matthew could see a short wave from the man on the couch, a pout coming over his face as he peaked over the back to look at him. "Arthur's just bein' annoying right now, 'sall. Now tell Francis where you're hurt, so we can bandage you up."

"But…Y-You—"

"They already got to me. We're worried about you right now, so be good and listen to what Francis has to say." Alfred narrowed his brow, smirking maliciously. "Don't make me sick Arthur on you. Don't think I won't, either. I'm sure he'd love to torture you for a while with his crazy, give 'im a fresh face to work over. Isn't that right, Artie? Eh? Eh?"

If looks could maim, Alfred would be hooked up to a life-support system from the glare Arthur gave the boy. Yet the poor, oblivious child continued to nudge the glowering man tauntingly for a response. Finally swatting his jabs away angrily, the Englishman let loose a low growl.

"Yes, _fine_. Just do what he says, Matthew. The last thing I need is more of his incessant blathering, and you know as well as I that the gaping black hole he calls his mouth will not close until you assent." As he continued to stare without response to Arthur's words, the man raised an eyebrow. "Do be kind enough to spare me some of my sanity, boy."

Matthew looked down, forcing in a shuttered breath. Calm down, he told himself. Just say something. Anything.

"N-Nothing." He cleared his thick throat, the gravel filled tenor straining his ears as he continued. "Nothing hurts. I'm fine." And he was.

Yes, guilt gnawed painfully through his chest, but knowing the others were there to…stop him…it helped. He couldn't hurt anymore. The ropes biting into his arms were a testament to that. Alfred was alright for the time being, he knew Arthur would make sure he was well taken care of. That's all that mattered. The least he could do now was give them what they wanted, a response.

Alfred's head peaked back over the couch, concern dusting his face. He stared at Matthew for a moment before turning a more determined gaze towards Francis.

"Check his head. He hit the floor pretty hard. I wouldn't be surprised if that was a contributing factor to why he was out so long the first time." With a quick nod, Francis began brushing his fingers gently over his scalp. Despite the soft touch, Matthew couldn't help but mute a hiss as the hands rested upon a very sore area at the base of his skull.

Francis withdrew immediately, clicking his tongue under his breath. Quietly, he drew Matthew's attention, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning down, eye level with the boy, "_Mattieu_, tell me, do you keep ice 'ere? An ice pack, per'aps?"

His scalp still tingling, Matthew glanced up in response. "Yes, I-I think so, in the kitchen, the ice box. But it's really not that bad. I'm sure it's nearly healed by now. No need to waste the effort. Maybe Alfred-"

"Oh no, don't you try shift it over to me now, Matt. You're not getting out of this that easy. Take your ice with grace." Alfred leaned his head over the back of the couch upside-down, a childish smirk sprawled across his face. Arthur did not look nearly as amused.

"Like you're one to talk, git. Francis, while you're in there, get enough for this tosser as well. Buffoon has a knot the size of a walnut on his noggin."

"Aw, come on, Arthur, I don't need any ice. My head's just fine." The instant the words left the boy's mouth, a rather crude smile flashed across the older man's face and he peeked an eyebrow before continuing.

"Hah, you're head's never been fine, but that's beside the point. Just as Matthew's head needs looking after, so does yours. The least we can do is reduce the swelling. Though I'm not sure all that isn't from your _pre-existing_ condition…"

As Francis stood to get the ice, squeezing the boy bound in the chair's shoulder lightly as he went, Arthur tossed him a small dark object and he disappeared through the doorway with a nod, the lighthearted banter between the men on the couch continuing through his absence. Matthew would have chuckled, would have laughed at the almost ridiculously normal conversation the two carried on, had he not been the source of the topic. His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the dream-like memory…

It was okay, though. He was tied, kept restrained. It couldn't happen again. Nope. They wouldn't let it.

"-Right, Mattie?" The voice broke through his deep concentration, and rather dimly, he glanced up at the speaker's face. Alfred stared back, a pleading look begging for a response which would win him his argument.

Before either could continue, however, Francis reentered the room, balancing two large ice packets on top of each other to make room for large pitcher of water he carried in his right hand. Settling it on the bookshelf carefully, he also released the four plastic cups he held by a single finger to the side, turning back towards the couch.

"I thought we all might be thirsty, so I brought some water. My apologies, _mon petite_, but you 'ave very little in your cupboards, I could not even find a tea box! Do you not visit here often?" Confusion swept over Matthew. Now he knew, _knew_ he bought groceries for them both, before any of this mess happened. He knew he did.

"I could have sworn I picked some up before…"

"They're still out in the car."

Glancing towards the origin of the serious tone, Matthew could see that Alfred was just the slightest bit paler as he spoke. Why…Oh. _Oh_. Matthew's gaze returned guiltily to his lap.

Arthur cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension settling over the quiet room. "Would you mind handing over the second ice pack _before_ it all melts, Francis?" It was silent for another moment before the sound of an uncoordinated catch melded with a surprised grunt stole the quiet away.

"Didn't have to lug it at me! It's fortunate I looked up in time, else your shoddy throw might've socked me in the face, you clumsy berk!"

Matthew felt the cold wrap rest against his aching scalp and flinched ever so slightly. The doting touch retracted, lessening the pressure. Finally positioning it with the appropriate weight, Francis began fastening it in place with a strip of gauze he pulled from his pocket. Matthew heard a humorous melody lace his whispered response, the French syllables clearly smug to anyone listening.

"_Angleterre needs to calm himself, non? If he continues this way soon his head will surely explode from the sheer amount of air he keeps in there, eh, Mattieu? We must remember to hold a funeral for all the little elves that live in his eyebrows._" Matthew tried his best to suppress the small smirk crawling on his face as the Frenchman tittered away at his own clever joke.

"Oi! Don't think I can't hear you back there! If you're planning on insulting someone, at least have the common decency to do it to their face, ya bleeding prat."

Matthew glanced up apologetically at the glaring Brit, but he stared past the younger's head and settled on the man looming above him. Alfred sat adjacent to him, head bend down to allow the shorter man access as his bound the pack to him as well, an irritated scowl etched across his face.

"_Oui_, my sincere apologies, _mon ami_. I will make sure I throw a bit 'arder next time, _non_? Per'aps the swat will scare off the caterpillars taking refuge on your forehead? That is my 'ope, as it appears they 'ave grown much too big to be supported by your head any longer." Scarlet pooled down Arthur's face, and his jerked movements flowed with his livid tone, punctuating each phrase.

"I'll have you know my eyebrows are a perfectly reasonable size! You have some nerve, going around, insulting ME with your ridiculous—"

"Ow. OW, Arthur. What'cha trying to do, smash the bump back in? I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way." Alfred yanked his head away, coddling the assaulted area. Arthur rolled his eyes and yanked the boy back down to his level, the previous irritation subsiding as he finished the wrap, making sure to secure it with more care this time around.

"If your barmy head weren't so enormous wouldn't have to bind it so tightly."

"That just means I've got a big brain. It's a good thing." Alfred beamed proudly for a moment, the skeptical look he received from Arthur missed entirely.

With a shake of his head, the Briton muttered, "A big cranium, perhaps, but I assure you there is little mass hidden beneath it. I'd bet a fools treasure it's as empty as a cave in there. Can't help but feel for the two brain cells you do have; must be ever so lonely…"

"Haha, I know you're just jealous, old man. No need to compensate for your brain-envy by takin' jabs at mine." The giggles emanating from Alfred were cut off at the sharp flick he received from Arthur in response.

"What'cha do that for?"

"Oh quit your whining. You know exactly what it was for."

Matthew sighed, content if just for a moment. He couldn't help the warm feeling sweeping over him as the make-shift family bickered amongst themselves. And while guilty thoughts lingered in the back of his mind, he ignored them in favor of the affectionate arguments consuming the room.

If only for a moment, he enjoyed it.

* * *

Yeah, so I tried to make it a little less angsty and sad in this one (though it's probably not noticeable for a good half of this chapter). I just felt like writing something happy here, so I did. Hopefully it doesn't seem inappropriate. I liked it, at least, and I suppose that's really all that matters, but I hope you guys did too! ^^

Also another entire chapter in one perspective! Yay! Don't expect it in the next one, though...


	11. Serenity

Alright, another one, much shorter this time. Also has a few person swaps. Sorry in advance.

* * *

Chapter 11

* * *

It was quiet, save the low lull of the television in the background. Arthur raised an eyebrow towards his sleeping ward; 'twas just like Alfred to fall asleep during a film of _his_ choosing…

Vaguely he registered the bright images flashing across the screen, a reluctant smirk gracing his tight face. He shouldn't be surprised at the boy's choice, with the selection given to him; it was only natural to assume Alfred would pick the only children's film Matthew still kept in the building. The man could only assume it was left here to entertain Alfred when he did come to visit, from the reaction the boy gave previous to viewing.

Shaking his head, Arthur returned his gaze back to the sleeping child. He was sprawled against the opposite end of the couch, his head nestled in the crook of his elbow against the armrest with his injured leg lying limply across the cushion opposite. The irritation around his eye seemed to have subsided, though his lower cheek did give the occasional twitch every once in a while.

Arthur bit his lip. Could there be some residual nerve damage to the area? He would need to take a look at it as soon as-

"_Angleterre._" The whispered word drew his attention from the boy, and Arthur leveled his gaze to the opposite of him. The chair Matthew was bound to sat along side his, and Francis leaned forward in another beside it. It appeared the other child had fallen asleep as well. With a sigh, Arthur shifted, stretching his tired limbs.

"It seems we've outlasted them. Suppose Matthew keeps bedding anywhere near? They could probably do with a blanket or two. And I don't imagine the back of that seat is all that comfortable, either." Francis nodded, glancing apprehensively towards Matthew's sleeping form. Brushing the stray strands sprawled against the sleeping boy's forehead, the Frenchman spoke restlessly.

"_Oui_. I will retrieve some." Standing sharply, Francis made for the door before taking a hesitant glance back at the napping child. Arthur rolled his eyes at the older man's caution.

"He'll be fine, Francis. I'll look after him, don't fret." The man faltered by the doorway for a single instant longer before nodding gratefully and scurrying down the dark hall.

* * *

Francis made his way up the tall stairs slowly, the familiar pattern overtaking his sense of direction and leading him to the dank closet resting at the top.

Stuffing several blankets into the crook of his arm, he bounded down the stairway, back towards the sitting room with the others. As he passed the kitchen door, a flicker catching his eye, distracting him from his destination.

An icy shiver crawled up his spine as he peeked through the cracked doorway (which he forgot to close before returning previous, he chided himself).

A black shadow leaned against the dim window, its nonexistent gaze focused towards him.

* * *

Finally, one of the little wretches had wandered from the safety of their shaded room. Slenderman leered through the pane towards the trembling man peering through the cracked door.

This was his chance. If he was to regain control, he needed this one.

Focusing his energies, he willed the man into the room. Clumsily, the he entered, his eyes wide in terror.

The shadow released a low, disembodied whisper, heard only in the mind of the wavering being. It was no human language, but it skipped across the psyche in a familiar pattern, one of a distant memory, understandable despite its archaic nature.

"**Come Francis. Come stand at the window…**"

Stumbling forward, the blond man stared blankly back, his eyes distant as the monster continued whispering softly across his mind.

"**That's it…Come closer…Come look upon me properly…"**

The man lurched forward, each heavy step echoing loudly in the silent kitchen. Slenderman smiled viciously; he nearly had him in his grasp. Just one more push and it would be his…

"**Everything that is good resides here…The dark is good…Join it, Francis…Yes…Come and join your **_**Mattieu**_** in the darkness…."**

The demeanor of the Frenchman immediately changed at these words, the clumsy shuffling halting instantaneously. Coming to his senses, he darted to the counter, adverting his eyes and slinking behind the small cover the unit provided him.

The creature leering through the window was not happy as he felt the small control he had obtained over the man slip from his grasp. Not happy in the least.

Releasing an irate screech, he scratched angrily on the thick pane.

"**Come back here, Francis! I'm not finished with you yet! You will become mine, whether by choice or by my own doing, your soul WILL BE MINE!"**

* * *

Francis panted frantically behind the barrier, trying to form his foggy thoughts into a coherent plan. A terrifying trilling shriek echoed in his head, and Francis fervently grabbed at its sides in attempts to quell the painful ringing.

"**Come back here, Francis!"**

His eyes poured over the surrounding shelves, searching for something, anything to help him.

"**I'm not finished with you yet!"**

Seeing nothing, he searched the cabinets his kept his back against, shifting carefully so he remained hidden from the window.

"**You will become mine, whether by choice or by my own doing, your soul WILL BE MINE!"**

Throwing aside the useless sponges kept beneath the cupboard doors, Francis retraced the frantic path he had moments ago, desperately searching for something he'd missed previous.

His eyes fell upon the small stack of blankets lying on the floor, undisturbed from when he dropped them upon entering.

The idea flittered across his mind nearly the same moment, and he turned in search for the silverware drawer. After pulling open the ones nearest to him futilely, Francis glanced hesitantly towards the opposite side of the room.

He would need to venture out into the monster's line of vision to retrieve anything from it. As if hearing Francis' thoughts, it made itself known again with more deep scratches in the glass. Francis shuddered.

"**Do not tempt me, wretch! I will make you all suffer for you insolence! Comply and I will permit you mercy!"**

Jaw clenching tight, Francis scooped up a sheet and in one swift movement, dashed to the drawers adjacent to him. Wrenching the first open, relief graced his face at what met him; several large steak knifes lay in the bottom of the compartment, glinting up at the Frenchman giddily. Snatching two, he spun to face the window, keeping his eyes low to avoid the monster's gaze.

Once pinpointed, Francis charged the window, throwing the blanket against the wall and jamming two small knifes deep into the wooden barrier. The make-shift curtain hung flaccidly down the side as the man stood, panting.

He would make sure that demon never saw _Mattieu_ again.

...He would need more blankets.

* * *

Arthur sat for a moment in the silence before sighing. Lugging himself to his feet, the Brit moved to adjust Alfred's limp form resting on the couch. Not surprisingly, he did not stir once through the process.

Satisfied with the first child's position, he turned to the other. Arthur's resolve wavered a lone instant before shaking his head gruffly and striding to stand behind the slumbering boy.

Kneeling, he began the tedious process of untying his knots; his practiced hands made quick work with them, however, and soon they fell limply to the floor with a quiet thud.

As Matthew began to lean unceremoniously to the left Arthur lifted him from the chair and set him gently on the opposite portion of the couch. As soon as the boy touched the cushions he twisted himself into a tight ball, letting loose a quiet sigh.

Alfred had moved again despite the Englishman's previous arrangements, letting one leg dangle from the edge, and taking up much more space than necessary. Miraculously however, both fit with ease on the piece of furniture.

Arthur couldn't help the smile that flickered across his face as he took in the scene. Biting back bits of nostalgia, the Briton focused on the next task at hand, turning towards the rope on the floor. Wrapping it tightly, he set it on the bookshelf.

He then glanced towards the door, a nervous glint in the expression.

It remained empty, the Frenchman nowhere in sight. Good.

Digging behind several books, Arthur finally wrenched out a small, hand-held video camera, hidden in the bookshelf.

* * *

…Yes. Allyssa sucks at writing evil dialog. I apologize. Sorry if this was too fast, too. That was another thing I was nervous about.

So yeah, Arthur found a camera! Wonder what he could possibly be planning on doing with it…

Also, if anyone's curious, the movie Alfred's so excited about:

http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=0KMV-LLUjxo&feature=related

Why? Because he would totally adore that movie. Especially that radio. ^^


	12. Innocence

VERY long AN, just as a warning. Maybe not as long as the first chapter, but still long.

REASON FOR ABSENCE:

First off I need to apologize for this taking so long. You would not believe the trouble I went through with this piece. It has been deleted at least 4 times off my MULTIPLE computers, reasons ranging from viruses, to inadequate saving procedure to the damn computer deleting its startup system and refusing to do more than blink "please load disk" at me. And trust me, I've had this thing done 7 times over, but every time it deleted, I lost everything (30 pages, give or take), except the last time, because I FINALLY got smart enough to save the damn thing via email, though it only saved half of what I had written, since I tried to power through on New Years and finish the thing (of course, that was when the damn computer died, taking a piece of my soul with it…), so I didn't have to start completely over this time, which was good. The fact that I was constantly rewriting the SAME part over and over again did make me less inclined to work on it after I had before so many times, but when I reached the end of the stuff I'd actually written, and even started working on the extra chapter not reliant on the 'Slender' quotes, the slump was gone and I wrote it within 4 hours. So hopefully that means I will be able to pump out another few chapters soon. While I'm sure all the rewriting has caused some of my good ideas to get lost, I think the end result was fairly decent, so hopefully that's just me being right and not me not wanting to rewrite the damn thing again. XD As I'm sure you've noticed by now, I'll be posting several at once, because I needed to get the entire section done before I could post anything, just in case I decided to add things I hadn't mentioned before for the guys' reactions. Hopefully I did them justice. Also I wanted it to be worth the wait.

IMPORTANT NOTE ON HOW THE CHAPTERS ARE WRITTEN:

I tried to write this as an observer might view a recording. The interpretations of Alfred's emotions are what the narrating character interprets it as, and might not be the actual way he's feeling or thinking according to the original story. I did this purposefully, because it adds realism to the character (I think, atleast). Arthur is not going to know that Alfred thinks Matthew looks like Francis, even with facial cues. As much as I'd LOVE to include it, it's just not possible, unless he's a film psychic. He will make his own assumptions based on his own interpretation of the boy's character and past actions. So Alfred may be terrified inside, but if he's putting on a brave face, that is what Arthur will take into account. This is pretty much the same way I tried to write the story as a whole, which is why it flips perspectives so often, but I really like that closedness of interpretation. I think it leads to more realistic misunderstandings. But, of course being ever curious, the other person is generally given a chance to spill their thoughts. I tried my best to make it feel like they were watching the recordings, so I apologize if it's filled with an exuberant amount of useless detail. Legitly, I took the original sections, copied them over in a word document, and went down the row explicating. Hopefully I made it so that you share the boy's frustrations with the tape. Also, there are some lines (like, two) in which I added extra punctuation or an extra word, just to help the flow. I will point them out in the chapters, but it is nothing that changes the storyline (until the break in stories, of course, which I will point out as well). Hopefully it feels like you're watching with the guys, because that was the object.

* * *

Chapter 12

* * *

Settling on the ground behind the couch, Arthur shifted the weighty device in his hands nervously. He had found the thing during their cleaning spree, resting on the carpet buried beneath the rest of the bookshelf's contents from the creature's fit previous. He knew Alfred had mentioned coming up here to film…Perhaps he had caught the monster on tape?

Arthur had stuffed the recorder away before the others could take any notice, resolving to come back to it later. He wasn't sure what was on the machine, but whatever it was, he doubted it was anything good. Certainly not something the two younger countries needed to relive, and Francis…

Well, it would be better if Arthur took a look on his own.

With a reluctant huff, he flicked a switch; it was for the best, the Briton chided himself, he needed to know what they were up against. His thoughts didn't do much to quell the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach as he waited for the device to flicker to life, though…

He waited.

And waited.

After a good minute or so of staring at the unchanging screen, Arthur moved to flick the on and off toggle a good two or three more time.

Still black.

Dammit.

It was dead. Great. Just bloody peachy.

With a good smack to the unfunctioning machine, Arthur let out a whispered growl, leaning his head back against the seat, irritated. What now?

Should he search the house for a charger cable? Where would he find one? The cabin was much too big for Arthur to search alone, and there would be no telling when the Frog would return or the boys would wake up…Besides, the last thing he needed was to leave them unsupervised.

Arthur glanced unconsciously over his shoulder in the direction of the slumbering nations, though he didn't see anything but the back of the chair.

Admit it or not, he knew a lot about dark magic, and when someone was involved in such, when that connection was made, it didn't just dissipate after the link was lost. It lingered in wait. Matthew may be fine for the time being, but if they weren't careful, he most certainly could be lost again.

Arthur wasn't sure any of them could handle another outburst, they were all so mentally exhausted from the last one…

Gently he bounced the recorder in his palm in thought. Arthur shifted, leaning heavily on his right leg for a moment before a jolt ran up the edge of it, causing the Englishman to jump.

Letting loose an irritated huff, Arthur shoved his hand into his pants pocket and drew out the offending device. His cell phone blinked happily at him, wondering if he really wanted to delete all the contacts kept there? Muttering under his breath, Arthur closed the application with more gesticulation than need be.

"Blasted buttons. Too damn sensitive for their own good…" Before slipping it back into the pocket, Arthur glanced unconsciously at the small linking bars in the top corner, wondering briefly how much longer he'd have before having to charge the thing…

Hm.

Flipping the phone over, Arthur gripped at the backing, picking at it with his nails to crack it open. Finally managing to peal it off, he shook the square, rechargeable battery from its holder and grabbed the recorder.

With a few grunts and _a lot_ of elbow grease, he eventually wedged the battery into place enough to hear the delightfully welcome ding of the camera returning to life. Only bumping the delicately positioned battery pack twice before realizing it wasn't the best of ideas, Arthur adjusted the screen to the help menu.

Pulling up the first file listed, the Brit jumped at the volume and rushed to soften it before it woke the other two in the room. Pausing the video for a moment, he peeked over the couch, reaffirming that they did indeed remain undisturbed. With a huff, the Arthur slid back to the floor, clicking the small play button with nervous anticipation.

The image flickered slightly, but played without much troubled. The picture displayed a rather large mouth, one of which took up the entire screen. The lips were pursed with frustration, and the image shook as the owner fidgeted with the camera in recording.

"_Damn thing, I need to get one of those nice new ones that does all the focusing for ya…"_

Arthur immediately recognized Alfred's tenor flitter across the tiny speakers, the tense lips mirroring the words. Finally the image zoomed out, revealing his beaming face framed by the clear sky above, blemished only by the occasional tree.

Arthur couldn't help the sharp tug at his heart as he looked at the unblemished spot, now concealed by gauze on the sleeping boy's face.

"_There we go! Now everyone at home can see me." _With an exaggerated wink, the boy let out a peal of laughter as the camera bobbed up and down to his steps. It was loud despite the low volume, and Arthur couldn't help glance back cautiously towards the doorway.

"_Alright. So even though I already know this is gonna be deleted as soon as I actually start, oh, I don't know, doing what I came here to do?, I'm bored and Mattie's gone shoppin',. Plus I'm tired of being cooped up in that prison Mattie calls a cabin. You know you need a key to get into anything in there? Someone was seriously ~paranoid~…" _Realizing he was straying from his original intent, Alfred refocused_._

"…_Anyway. I wanna talk to something, so I don't die from lack of social contact or whatever. It's a real thing. Look it up."_ Alfred looked pointedly at the camera, his eyebrow raised, _"At least this makes me look less crazy. Right?"_

The boy looked as if he half expected an answer before shaking his head with a roll of his eyes._ "Well, I think it does. And that's all that matters, amiright?"_

He let the camera fall then, chiding himself off-screen quietly, _"Heh, I'll bet I sound like a nut arguin' with the camera like this…"_ Clearing his throat, Alfred pulled the shot back up to his face, the soft crunches of his steps growing louder as he padded across the snow-covered ground.

"_So anyways, I know it sounds silly, but I want to talk about it anyhow, 'cause it's been bugging me to no end. So yeah." _Alfred paused, a guilty smile flashing across his lips as he contemplated the best way to go about his phrasing. Scratching his cheek, he laughed, embarrassed.

"_Hah, so I think I'm being followed by a bald genie in a business suit?"_ His smile grew forced, and Alfred glanced away from the camera for a moment, squinting his eyes shut tightly.

"…_Wow, that sounds even dumber when I say it out loud. Heh, but seriously, I do think someone's stalkin' me or something. And he's gotta be some kind of magical-whosiwat. I mean, a two story window is not something some regular ol' Joe can peek in through with ease. A real creep, he was. Freaked me right the fuck out. Last night, at least…"_

Was this the monster? Had it begun terrorizing the boy in the night previous to actually attacking? And what did Alfred mean it could peek in to his second story window? Did he have the ability to levitate or something? He had yet to see much of the beast's abilities, with exception to the incident with Matthew, but Arthur's hope that that was all the creature could do magic-wise was beginning to drain with Alfred's words.

With another sigh, the boy on the tape slowed his pace, the rhythmic nudging of the frame lessening.

"_So, that's where I'm picking up, I suppose…Now that I'm out here, though, I think Mattie's right—I must have been imaging things. Its way too pretty out here for there to be any scary stuff hiding out."_

Alfred let loose a small laugh, which was accented by the small puffs billowing from his cold bleached lips. He seemed so lighthearted, so carefree in that moment; Arthur couldn't help the small smirk making its way across his face. He rolled his eyes at the ridiculously happy bounds the child took, obviously enjoying himself in the crisp air, despite his constant complaints to the contraire. The southerner might whine about the cold to everyone until their ears bled, but it was evident he preferred a brisk outside to none at all.

Suddenly, Alfred skittered to a stop, taking the Englishman off guard for a moment. The boy sucked in a sharp breath, twisting the camera around to focus on something lost in the brilliantly white crystals.

After an anxious moment of searching the screen for whatever it was that had caused the American to halt to so abruptly, Arthur took note of the small impressions in the snow, only defined by a slight discoloration on the lit panel in front of him.

Not a second later, the screen zoomed in to prove his assumption correct, accompanied by what could only be described as a 'squeal of delight' emanating from behind the camera.

The nervous breath Arthur was unconsciously holding burst out in a half snort, and he bit his lip to keep the rest of it quiet, remembering where he was. That boy and his ridiculous reactions! Here he was, fearing the worst, and the git was prancing about giggling over rabbit markings in the snow. The same childish antics as ever, no less.

The screen tilted down for a moment, the image blurring as the focus was distorted by a foreign object was laid over the lens. The picture flickered back and forth a few times before the blur cleared, replaced by a clearer print, revealing the tracks in much more detail. It appeared they were moving again, but with a much more cautious pace than before.

Finally, the boy stopped, crouching down to train his film on a small opening in the snow. The Briton could hear light clicking radiating from behind the camera, Alfred evidently calling the small creatures residing inside. No doubt they would appear soon enough; the cretins swarmed around the American whenever he was outside, and were the devil to get rid of. Little terrors destroyed many a cabbage patch, Arthur remembered bitterly.

Silence fell without the Englishman's notice, and when he finally did recognize it, he wondered if the film had frozen up by the stillness of it. He nearly considered pressing a random button or two to double check the workready of the device, but stopped when noticing the small brown ball wriggling out of the hole. Several more followed after, apparently investigating the source of the chirping previous.

Despite the fact that the camera was still very much focused on the bunnies, Arthur could see the brilliant smile stretching across the American's face in his mind's eye, only punctuated on the film by a sharp inhale from behind. Not a moment later the first rabbit spotted the camera man and eagerly hopped over beside him, something that to any other person would be completely out of place; but to Alfred, it was more than expected. It chittered eagerly up at him, filling the entire camera screen with its fuzzy little head. Soon the screen panned back to reveal the others had taken base around Alfred as well, hopping enthusiastically around in the snow in attempts to gain his sole attention.

With a surrendering chuckle, the boy behind the camera finally shifted to the ground, settling the device on an inclined surface to the side of him, apparently unable to resist petting the little creatures any longer. The camera, unfortunately, was pointed off to the side and only caught a small portion of Alfred's knee, of which was currently being nuzzled by the larger, chocolate colored hare that had emerged first from the burrow.

"_Auw, you guys are friendly things, aren't you? Figures you would be, you're Canadian, after all…"_

The rabbit sat against him for only another moment before hopping to the center of the screen, pawing the ground every once in a while for bits of food. Alfred snorted happily, stretching his leg out along the snow-covered ground as he apparently leaned back in the white fluff. The bunny hopped back and forth in the frame for a few moments as the quiet took over once again.

This time it was different. Sporadically, the frame began to jump, distorted sounds screaming through the tiny speakers loud enough to wake the dead. Arthur was so taken aback by the noise he jumped, slamming his head against the edge of the couch. Gritting his teeth in pain, he hurriedly pressed the device in his shirt in desperate attempts to smother the sounds, scrambling to his feet.

As suddenly as they had started, the sharp echoes stopped. The Briton stood frozen, glancing around the now quiet room. He couldn't help hold his breath as one of the boys shifted on the other side of the couch (Alfred! Alfred was moving! Was he awake? What would he do with the camera? If he was spotted by that boy of all people…)

When the movement finally ended and remained still for what felt like eternity, Arthur let lose a small sigh. That was close.

Remembering the camera, he pulled it from his shirt to reveal a petrified screen, stuck between frames. Obviously in the man's panic he'd clouted the side hard enough while attempting to drowned the sound out to pause the image. Triple checking the security of the room, the Englishman finally sat back down on the floor.

Before pressing play this time, however, Arthur muted the device, assuming anything said for as long as the screen was jumping about would just be static. Finally satisfied he could begin again, Arthur restarted the film.

The video bounced around wildly, and it was difficult to pull much from it, even with stationary visual points to plot from. Alfred's leg could still be seen through the flashing image, and the vague visual of the rabbit flickered in the background.

Without notice, however, the scene suddenly flashed black, just for a mere moment, but long enough to apparently affect the members on the film. The frames' oscillation went from frantic to a slow tick, finally calming enough to see Alfred was no longer reclined in the snow, now on his knees, frantically spinning around the open space. He stopped when he faced the camera, face laced with panic, and he scrambled for it quickly before the image finally shifted at his touch.

The camera, gripped in his hand, swung haphazardly as he walked, nothing but the ground flashing the occasional brush at him. Alfred finally stopped, revealing the edge of a small brown lump, lying limp in the snow. The screen shook a small amount, but it was evident the trembling came only from the person recording and not the recording image itself.

Was the thing dead?

Abruptly the image flickered black like before, the flashing frames moving so fast Arthur could only vaguely take note of the sudden blur of the screen. White and grey smears blurred across the screen, flashing rhythmically, faster and faster until finally the screen blanked white.

Arthur waited for it to continue, but nothing happened.

It appeared to be the end of the clip.

Surely there was more. It couldn't just end there.

Arthur bit his lip. Nervously he pressed down the one of the buttons, hoping to rewind the scene.

It didn't seem to work, and he pressed it a little more fervently than before, mashing it down several times in a row. Getting flustered at the camera's inability to obey simple requests, the Briton did not notice the small white words flashing across the screen until it was much too late to do anything about it.

FILE DELETED.

Arthur's eyes widened in horror. No. No, he couldn't have! The camera was simply playing a trick on him, that was all. Frantically he tried to retrace his steps through the camera's intricate systems to find where it was hiding the important file. When he found nothing, Arthur began to resort to brute force to recall the lost information, grumbling under his breath heatedly to himself.

It wasn't until a dark shadow leered from above him, blocking the light he needed to see the pixilated screen of the camera, did he realize he wasn't alone in the room with the slumbering children.

* * *

Obviously everything before "So that's where I'm picking up" was my dialog. Hopefully it flowed seamlessly enough into the original, I've never been all that good at dialog. The camera dialog from this point further is verbatim from the original 'Slender' story unless otherwise addressed as such. More to come.


	13. Misconception

Chapter 13

* * *

As soon as he peeked his head through the cracked doorway, Francis felt as though the soft quiet resting over the room was out of place. Silently inching himself into the space, the Frenchman glided towards the slumbering children huddled in the cushions. He paused, a warm smile lighting upon his worn face, the terrifying events previous wiped from his mind as he beamed down at them, reveling in the peace of the moment.

Breaking from his stupor, Francis pulled out a sheet he held tucked firmly beneath his arm and draped it over the sleeping figures. Knowingly, he slipped Alfred's arm beneath the covers and moved to take the boy's glasses, thinking better of it at the last moment; a stray thought struck him and (with an uncomfortable twist of his stomach) Francis thought it best to leave them where they lay so that when the child did open his eyes again, he could at least see _something_.

However the uncomfortable feeling passed as quickly as it came as the wayward hand shot back out from beneath the sheets, dangling over the edge punctuated by a soft snore from its owner. Francis held back a soft chuckle and moved the hand back under the sheet. The Frenchman cast a wandering glance down the couch at the other child who lay on it curled into a small ball, whether to compensate for all the space his twin was taking up or otherwise, he did not know.

Drifting down the seat, Francis noted this child still had his glasses on too. They appeared to be pressing into his face uncomfortably, but the boy did not seem to notice. The Frenchman removed them anyway, tucking the pair in his breast pocket for safe keeping. He rested the back of his hand against the young Canadian's forehead, brushing away vagrant hairs from the sleeping child's eyes. _Mattieu_ appeared so serene, happy even, the fear and stress the older man had seen not hours before wiped from his features.

He would need to thank _Angleterre_ for moving the boy…

Glancing around the room as the thought arose, Francis was taken aback; Arthur was nowhere in sight.

It was not like him to just abandon his post.

Confusion settled over the Frenchman's face just as a low hum reached his ears. Recognizing the origin of the sound, Francis edged around the side of the long couch.

He could see the Briton on the ground, his cell phone discarded beside him, it's back torn open. The man was furiously pounding upon the small object he held tightly between his hands, demanding it heed his requests with angry whacks to the side; Arthur had yet to notice Francis, as his back was facing him and the man was busying himself with the device.

Creeping forward, Francis peered over the crouched man's shoulder. The shadow alerted the Englishman to the other's presence and he jumped, scrambling lamely to his feet and shoving the device into his pocket roughly, purposefully concealing it from him.

"Christ, you nearly had me jump right from my skin! Is it too much to ask to have you, oh, I don't know, announce yourself when you enter the room? Bleeding hell, man…"

Arthur's agitated whisper petered to a stop as he noted the Frenchman's gaze wander to the cell phone resting on the floor. Snatching it up, he turned, muttering under his breath. Francis took a step forward.

"…_Angleterre_, what was it you were doing?" The question wasn't accusatory, a wary curiosity piquing through the Frenchman's voice. Arthur attempted to cover himself poorly, a rushed false note lacing his words as he peering back, shifting.

"O-Oh, you know, was trying to get the damn mobile to work, utter rubbish these things. Never as reliable as you need them to be."

Francis was confused. What was it that had the other country so worked up? It must have been something to do with that little machine he had been messing with earlier. The one that Arthur was trying to hide from him.

…From the looks of how much it was affecting the Briton's ability to keep his emotions in check, it was very important. Generally he was a much better actor when it came to these things…

Stepping closer, Francis moved to grab up the small device peeking from the nervous man's pocket. Arthur immediately jumped back, blanching profusely at the straightforwardness Francis exhibited.

"Just what the bloody 'ell do you _think_ _you're doing, __**Frog**_?" The irate panicked phrased prickled tightly up his throat, attempting to squelch it partway through when remembering the sleeping duo on the couch. Francis simply looked at him, his brow furrowed in incomprehension, a bit of irritation leaking through his tone at the evasion the other offered.

"What is it you 'ave that you do not wish me to see, _Angleterre_?"

Arthur looked ready to vehemently deny whatever it was he kept from the Frenchman before a light moan cascaded over the top of the couch. Both heads snapped in the direction of the noise, and Francis shifted around the side, moving to wrap the blanket more securely around the two resting boys. Satisfied they were adequately protected, his eyes rose to meet the other's, only to find they were settled on the flooring. He tried again, attempting a softer tone.

"Arthur…Please tell me what it is that you are keeping to yourself. If it involves anything of our situation, I believe I 'ave a right to know of it…"

After a quiet moment, the Brit broke from his stance, cursing lightly under his breath and shoving his hand feebly into his pocket, drawing out a small camcorder. Grunting, he tossed it to the Frenchman, sending a level glare his way as he did so.

"Here, you insufferable twit. I found it while tidying up. It appears to have recorded some of what went on. I thought…Well, I _thought_ it might help give a better idea as to what we're up against."

Francis looked down at the beaten video camera, turning it over in his hands. The back of the battery casing was off, obviously where the short-tempered Briton had attempted to force his discarded cell phone's battery pack to do the job where the previous one had faltered. It appeared that the casing fit, but just barely, with the sensitive ends only pressed halfway against the side, leaking from the back of the machine.

Pressing the switch on the device to reveal a short list of files, and selecting the first of them, Francis noted the flickering image as it began to play (no doubt from the uneven circuit running from the charge), the sound gone from the device. Glancing up, he pursed his lips.

"'Ave you seen what is on it yet?" Arthur glared back at the ground for a moment longer before looking up to face the Frenchman, his eyes softening just the slightest. Huffing with false annoyance, he strode closer, snatching the camera out from between Francis' fingers. He pressed another side button (labeled 'volume', Francis noticed), tapping it just three times, speaking quietly as he played with it.

"Only a small portion. Nothing terribly important, but the damn camera deleted the file before I could take a closer look at it. I was about to begin the next one before you so very rudely decided to spy over my shoulder." Arthur frowned at the sound as it finally flittered back to life, the audio distortion pouring from the device in uneven strangled screeches.

Francis couldn't help but flinch at the noise, glancing back over the smaller's shoulder for a better view of just what was happening on the tape.

"Why does it just jump around on the screen? I cannot see a thing! 'Ave you broken it? And why is it playing that awful noise? Surely that is not what 'as been recorded. Do you even know what it is you are doing, _Angleterre_?"

"Oh, will you just be quiet! I haven't done anything wrong, it's this infernal device! If anything, I've gone and fixed it, it was much worse before. Here, look, you can see the doorway. Obviously whatever's messing with the film has cleared up." True enough, the picture had cleared, only breaking every few seconds, and the sharp noises had drizzled to a soft buzz now, humming in the background.

The scene was recognizably inside of the cabin hall, low to the ground and very out of focus. The image bobbed up and down slightly, and deep heaving breaths accompanied the movement. Francis turned to the Englishman for a clue as to what was happening, but the gaze he held on the device was so intent that the Frenchman decided better of it.

A quiet thump reverberated through the speakers, followed by a whispered curse. Francis took note of Arthur's deeply furrowed brow. His expression betrayed his confusion and concern, and the latecomer couldn't do much else but watch the video in hopes that it would explain exactly what was going on.

A loud huff blew across the microphone, producing an even louder garble from the device. The image rose, obviously the cameraman standing, and appeared to move purposefully to an area deeper in the house. Through the blur, the observing party could make out a table and small black block resting on it. It seemed they were in the kitchen now.

The camera was then set down next to the box, revealed to be a computer when in closer proximity, facing a still blurry Alfred. It appeared he was not concerned with refocusing the device, it pretty much forgotten from the anxious child's attention. He sat, nervously drumming his leg fast enough that the sound carried to the recording device, and at times when his knee brushed the table, it wriggled the image with the taps.

"_I must be losing my mind. This whole thing is insane,"_ Alfred muttered quietly, glancing pointedly at the camera before turning back to the computer screen. Apparently it had finally connected, as the soft blue light reflected off the boy's glasses blinked back in response. Eagerly he analyzed the page, but his brow drew together in confusion.

"_The Slender Man?"_

Francis and Arthur looked at each other, the familiar set of words seeming to echo the room. That was the phase Alfred had used to refer to the monster before. He had gotten it from the computer?

The boy sat back in his chair, aghast at whatever it was he had been reading. _"It's a story. A fucking story."_ His mutterings grew more relieved as he finished, laughing at his evident stupidity. _"A story. It's just a story."_

Forcing another curt laugh, he muttered under his breath with a sigh, pinching his temple, _"Some hero I am, scared by a made-up monster and some photoshopped internet stills. Fan-freaking-tastic."_

Giving a sharp look at the camera before shaking his head tiredly, Alfred reached for the machine, blacking it out as the scene ended, the clip finished.

Francis looked to Arthur, expecting some kind of explanation from all this. What had the boy meant 'Just a story'? If this creature, this 'Slenderman', were just a fictional beast, he obviously would not be terrorizing them. It was apparent from Alfred's early demeanor in the clip he'd seen it previous in some form or another. And what was all this talk of photoshopped pictures?

The Englishman's face betrayed little as he sat thinking to himself. Surely _Angleterre_ would know what fiend was behind this all. It may not be one _he_ was familiar with, but the Briton would know for certain. Francis may have been older, but Arthur knew the mythical world inside and out, and so long as he could identify whatever it was this thing was that held them captive, it would only be a matter of time before they would be freed.

Curiosity soon got the best of Francis.

"_Angleterre_? What kind of creature is it he speaks of? I am not sure I 'ave 'eard of such a thing, not before Alfred mentioned it to us. He seemed to think it does not truly exist, that it is…created some 'ow? I am not sure I understand 'ow this can be possible…" Arthur looked at him then, a frown settled deeply across his features.

"It's not. Or, it's not supposed to be, at least. Stories are spawned from beasts, not the other way around…This entire situation makes no sense…"

Arthur looked at the Frenchman for a moment longer before glancing back down to the camera, navigating the screen back to the list of clips. He set the device to the second listing, pressing play with a diligent look casing his face.

The recording began with a pall of darkness covering the scene, the vague shapes of snow-jacketed plants leaking through the murky setting of the camera. Finally, a small light flashed on, brightening a circle's width across the ground. The light scanned the earth silently, scouring it for something. It was evident that the camera was being used for nothing but its lamp, as the searcher did little more than waggle the device back and forth, not bothering to focus the still blurred screen.

After several sweeps, and many more double checks, it was much darker as the dim light finally retreated down past the horizon. With an irritated huff, it appeared the hunter gave in, giving one last sweep before turning around and pointing the small beam at his feet to prevent tripping.

The camera moved with the walker, stumbling over brush and bumping against branches as it went along. When it was yanked to a stop unceremoniously, a terrified yelp skittered from the film, the panic leaking through to the two observers just as suddenly.

The tape swung around, and with a loud crack, it finally focused on a broken tree branch. Panted breaths flittered across the speakers, followed by an uncomfortable half-laugh.

"_A tree. Just a fucking…_" The camera swung around with his words, trilling off in the distance, the final one ending in little more than a whisper as the focus, which had been so off previous, revealed a perfectly crisp image in the center of the screen.

"…_tree_…"

A tall man stood eerily in the center of the clearing, turned away from the camera and Alfred. For a moment, the film was perfectly clear, so much so one could see every detail of the unearthly creature it captured.

Then it turned. The face, its flat, placid surface sent chills right down Francis' spine in remembrance. It felt as if the monster was glaring right down into the pit of his soul, twisting it to his will…

And then the static erupted again, breaking the image up into meaningless garble once more.

* * *

So yes, the blurriness was due to the loss of the special lens Alfred stuck on his camera for the bunnies, incase that wasn't very clear. I imagine when that if it were to fall off, the camera's previous focus would be off enough to cause significant image distortion. I'm certainly no expert, but from what I've seen with my sister's camera, it seems about right…So that is how I will write it. XD


	14. Desperation

Chapter 14

* * *

The men could do little more than fast forward through the broken frames, as a majority of the remainder of the clip was destroyed. The few images that did flash by were terrifying to say the least.

From the video tape there were several things Arthur could deduce about the creature he had been previously unaware, which he supposed was good; apparently the monster could distort electronic fields (as evidence to the tape's current condition), and perhaps even more frightening, had the ability to destroy things with the utmost stealth, the dark flash from the previous clip slightly more unnerving in uncovering its source. From stray frames he saw in the ruined footage, the thing could stretch to unreasonable lengths, disfiguring its body in the most terrifying ways, or at least making it appear so.

Arthur breathed heavily as the film clicked to a halt, indicating the end of the clip with an almost obscene echo through the quiet room. With shaking fingers, he urged the device to the next file.

It began quite like the first clip, the camera zoomed in much too close to the filmster's face. However, where an expression of mock irritation sat before, one of anxious terror lay now. The tense lips stared idly at the camera as it panned back to reveal the rest of the nervous youth. The film had a noticeable tremor, and was accompanied by the occasional shred in the footage, but certainly not so prevalent to impede the shot.

Arthur swallowed nervously. Things were getting worse for the boy on the film. A sickening tear in his chest forced him to peek back around the couch to reassure himself of the child's existence. He chided himself shortly, trying to convince the small piece of concern that it was unwarranted, the fearful country on the tape was perfectly safe _right now_.

It did little to comfort the Briton.

_"He's still out there,"_ the voice broke over the speakers, an unaccustomed fear tickling behind the man's whispered words. The camera turned to reveal the inside of the cabin, the very room they sat in now. Arthur glanced up in confirmation, noting the boy's position in the tape was more along the doorway than they were.

The video pulled up to expose the large window in the room, curtain drawn. With little warning, a strikingly tall figure slunk from behind the pane, his smooth face glaring through the glass at the camera. Just as quickly Alfred retracted, pulling behind the wall of the entranceway. The camera panned back to his startling pale face.

_"Damn, but I wish this place had more curtains."_ He paused for only a moment, his features pensive.

_"I don't even know if any of this footage is going to come out. God knows he's fucked up every other shot I've taken somehow."_ Obviously Alfred had reviewed some of the tape. Had it been what the two older nations witnessed, or some more telling evidence that had been deleted? Exactly how long had this gone on?

"_But I don't have a choice. I can't leave – he's everywhere." _The panic that listed through the American's voice was so startlingly sincere, so childlike compared to the man's average demeanor…

"_And if he gets me…this tape will be the only clue. It's all I have." _The finality of the words struck the Englishman hard. Alfred was…he wasn't planning on making it out of this, was he?

It didn't matter anymore. They were here now, the situation was handled for the time being, and Arthur would make damn sure it would remain that way. This past Alfred's worries were unnecessary.

Alfred set the camera down beside him, the far away words still flittering down, just more hushed than before.

_"The internet's a bust. I think he killed the lights somehow." _Arthur already knew this; he and Francis had needed to do some maintenance previous just to get some of the provisions working before.

The boy on the camera paused, shifting his arm gingerly, as if it were injured. Did the child neglect to tell him he'd hurt his shoulder? Damn him and his stupid masochistic tendencies to avoid caretaking at all costs. Arthur made a mental check to examine it later, and berate the child for neglecting to tell him.

"…_The phone still works, but who am I going to call for this?"_ Alfred's face suddenly darkened, a stray thought winding its way to the forefront of his mind.

"_Even England wouldn't believe me." _

The tone, the boy's words, they were spoken with one almost of betrayal, of one discovering a rouse played on him for such a long time it'd become more spiteful than lighthearted in its original nature.

Arthur could feel the Frenchman's eyes resting nervously on his face, unsure whether to pity or mock him, he was sure. But he ignored.

His intention or not, the child's words stung him. His features, turned up with bitterness, struck the Briton the hardest.

He'd refused to call him before because he feared the older man's rejection and ridicule. Had the Arthur instilled so much apathy in the lad that he felt he had no choice but to rely on himself? That he couldn't turn to him in times of dire need? That he couldn't count on him for protection, aid, anything?

…Was he to blame for the boy's condition now? His instilled mistrust had driven him to suffer so?

Nonsense. The child was being foolish. Had he phoned him, Arthur would have come in a heartbeat. The mocking he had done previous had been just that, jest, intended in nothing but good natured fun. He never really would have hung up on him, ignored the boy when he so obviously needed assistance. He was here now, wasn't he? He had been called, and he had come. He would have done the very same had Alfred called him before.

…He would have, right?

* * *

Francis watched as the plethora of emotions played against the Englishman's countenance, biting his lip.

Arthur was not one to be easily interpreted. He was stolid, an impassible shield to outside influence. Now, being able to recognize the small nuances that came with knowing the man for over a century were handy when deciphering what his true thoughts were, but as a general rule, the Frenchman made sure to allow room for error. Arthur was a tricky one to read.

At this moment, however, the man's feelings lay open on his taunt face. The fear, the guilt, the immense sadness…it all sat there, prostrate, bowing under the sheer weight of the Briton's psyche.

And Francis couldn't help but feel for him.

He forced himself to turn back to the video, which had shifted again, casting the occasional sideways glance at the disheartened man beside him as the film continued. It appeared that Alfred had picked up the camera once again, and now standing, stealthily moving down the hall towards the staircase. As he crept up it, trying to be as quiet as he could, the film had once again been designated 'flashlight', the small circle of light focused on the boy's feet as he climbed.

When Alfred finally reached the top of the staircase, stumbling down the short hall to a nearby open doorway, the lens peaked in, edging to view the curtain-less frame.

Of course the beast stood, looming through the pane as if it were a first story window, head tilted with mocking curiosity.

The camera fearfully drew back, a sharp hiss emitting from the owner. After a shaky breath or two, the screen trembled out to face the monster's silhouette again. The shadow peered in, an invisible sneer tracing his face, causing the film to begin the erratic frame jumps it had before.

Just as the static noise was starting to become unbearable, the creature's head whipped to the side, attention drawn to the front of the house. A half second later the entity slithered away, darkness enveloping the window pane once more.

Hesitantly the camera settled on the floor. Alfred's hand smacked the ground in front of the screen, a hurried attempt to shove himself to his feet. Scrambling up, he rushed to the window's side, leaning awkwardly to view whatever it was that drew the monster's attention.

The boy stiffened so sharply Francis couldn't help his own quiet gasp, an ominous feeling filling him with trepidation.

Next thing the observers knew, Alfred had made a mad-dash for the doorway, smacking the camera with his foot hard enough to send it spinning across the hall. The screen was now pointed under a small bed, revealing several dust-bunnies and a long forgotten sock. The bedframe shook as a heavy weight bounded across it, rolling onto the floor with a soft 'thump'. Two feet appeared, frantically shifting to the head of the bed. Lots of shuffling and heavy breathing could be heard, loud enough to carry to the lost device.

A muffled buzz sounded over the quiet pants made by the kneeling man, finally broken by a short muted greeting. Alfred's voice, frantic, gushed loudly when it came.

_"Mattie! Don't get out of the car!"_

Francis' stomach dropped. This was it, then. This was when that thing, that demon captured _Mattieu's_ mind. This was where all the trouble began.

A soft response whistled over the receiver, causing a more panicked recall from the figure leaning against the bedside table.

"_Mattie, buddy, you have to listen to me! Don't get out of the car! Turn around, get the hell out of here, whatever you have to do, just don't get out of the car!" _

A stuttered mumble flittered from the piece, the fearful tone infected by the caution of the other. Alfred was quick to jump at it, evidently the warning not taken seriously enough.

_"It's not a joke! He's coming for you!"_

The muted response began again but it was cut off by a sharp drag of metal echoing from outside, intensified by the receiver. Then silence.

The dial tone rang out loudly in the quiet room. A rattled breath could be heard from where Alfred sat. He swallowed once, trying to find his voice, but it only came in an exhausted, terrified whisper.

"…_Mattie?"_

Panicked breaths pricked up, the voice hidden by the bed becoming frantic, heart-wrenching with his unheard calls.

"_Mattie? Mattie!"_ He swore. Dropping the phone, Alfred skittered to the opposite side of the room, which the observers could only assume held a window. The boy's breath caught in his throat as he stood stalk still, facing whatever it was outside. The dread radiating off him was palpable.

And then he was bounding over the bed, and from what Francis could interpret from the loud crashes behind the camera, down the stairs. Frantic shuffling could be heard through the floor, and the dragging of something that should be fairly heavy quickly across the hard floor.

Another slam shook the frame of the cabin, the pounds of footsteps scurrying forth leaving the house in utter silence.

It was eerie. Francis swallowed, turning from the machine to face his companion. Arthur was peering at the screen intently, teeth gnashed together, nervous anticipation lacing his features. When he noticed the Frenchman's eyes, his face fell blank, a default glower settling in place.

"What? Don't look at me that way. You already know what happens. It's not like this is anything new. They're fine now. Worrying is a stupid waste of energy."

Francis could hear the self-chiding in the other man's voice, but chose to ignore it. Another time, perhaps. Returning his gaze to the unchanging screen, the Frenchman noted the quick shift of Arthur glancing down the couch in the corner of his eye. He bit down the smug smile that lit across his lips.

The sharp screech that echoed from the tiny speakers wiped it completely for him.

The picture began jumping again, this time cutting to completely destroyed frames, the distorted sound buzzing loudly despite the low volume. Francis grit his teeth, very much tempted to mute the device again, but just as he reached out to do so it stopped.

A metallic clang rang up the stairs, punctuated by long raspy breaths that echoed through the empty spaces of the cabin. After another several gulps to steady the wavering, shuffling resonated up to the camera, followed by a short sob.

"_Oh Mattie…Mattie, Mattie, oh god…"_ As the stuttered breaths drifting up to the film continued, the attempts to stifle them poor at best, Francis tried to restart his own lungs.

His _Mattieu_ sat right there on that couch. He was perfectly fine. Stop the ridiculous worrying. It was nonsense, it was well and in the past, like _Angleterre_ had said.

…Why did Alfred have to sound so desperately heartbroken when he called out to his quiet brother? Where was the creature? The boys? What was it that had happened below the stairs that this retched device would not let them see?

The quiet stretched as the blinking red numbers ticked passed, nervous fears filling the older man's throat as it dragged along. Perhaps they were unnecessary, over thought, but they bit fervently in the back of his conscious as a hungry dog might nip at the heels of their owner for a bone.

As the Frenchman waited, he bit his lip nervously, peeking at his companion from the corner of his eye. He had quietly motioned for them both to sit a short time ago, mainly to prevent the Brit from pacing as he was prone to do when he was impatient for something (which was always). If anything happened on the film, the last thing Francis wanted to do was to have to traipse after the restless man and miss it.

After a while, Francis tried turning the volume up, just to make sure the low setting wasn't causing them to overlook anything on the tape, but it still was a deathly silent over the speakers. He turned to capture the other's attention, noting his perturbed stare straining at the screen. His resolve stiffened and he spoke for the sake of both their sanity.

"_Angleterre_?" the festering worry was evident in the Frenchman's tone, and he licked his lips nervously before continuing.

"Per'aps we should stop while we are a'ead. We 'ave seen plenty of what the creature is capable of…There's no reason to watch the remainder of the film if we already know—"

The glare he received from the Briton was cold enough to freeze any worries Francis was planning on elaborating upon. In what could only be described as an offended tone, Arthur scathed the Frenchman.

"If this is too much for you, you may sit out in the hall, but I _will_ be watching until the end. It is important to understand all we can about the creature, and the only way can do that is by observing what is available to us. They are depending upon us to fix this, Francis, and we cannot afford to disregard anything, however insignificant. We've come late enough as it is, the least we can do is take this monster with the utmost seriousness." Guilt leaked through the smaller man's expression, finishing the angry whispers with a look of 'Even if we can't fix what's already been done…'

Francis saw the Brit dragging himself down with blame. He was taking the child's words too much to heart. The Frenchman began again, trying a softer tone to console him better.

"Arthur...Do not think you must do this because of what Alfred 'as said—"

"Oh, please, that has nothing to do with it. We are here for a reason, and you are trying to avoid the issue! If you can't handle it, then go. I will catch you up when all the footage has been reviewed. I neither have the time nor the patience to deal with your irrationalness right now," the Englishman hissed defensively, eyes tight and searching for a fight.

Stupid _Rosbif_, as stubborn and thickheaded as ever. Why could that man never listen to anything? All Francis wanted to do was help, but that _Connard_ couldn't be reasonable for a half second to listen to him.

"I am not being irrational, _Angleterre_! And you know that is not—"

A loud bang over the video amplified by the sensitive volume took both whispering men by surprise, effectively ending the argument. Arthur hurried to quiet the now booming device, shooting a frown at Francis for turning it up in the first place. The sound of hushed swears flittered through the now moderate speaker setting, apparently indicating that someone had a rather nasty stubbed toe now as result of the thump previous.

Creaking footsteps hopped over the floor behind the camera, moving back and forth in indecisive motions. Every once in a while the sound would stop, replaced with shuffling and eventually a frustrated huff before moving on. Just as the twelfth search appeared to be as unsuccessful as the last eleven, a happy shout of triumph broke over the device.

The footsteps appeared to move away from the camera, leaving the men's hearts to drop with the thought of more footage of the dust covered floor, when a last minute thought seemed to send the searcher scuttling back.

Not a second later the camera was sent spinning, and the offending feet reappeared on the film once again cursing its attacked toe. A head peaked down over the edge of the bed, revealing an irritated Alfred, his hair falling in an almost humorous fashion upside-down, sticking out in every which direction.

Lips pursed, he reached for the device with a grunt, setting it on some cloth tucked beneath his arm. Pausing for a moment, he turned around the room, apparently trying to recall whatever it was he came in for. Facing the bed, a quiet 'Aha!' and he bounded forward, scooping up a comfortable looking pillow and exiting the room.

Very little light reached the stairs as they climbed down, explaining the tripping hazard. It appeared all the doors, save the living room's, were closed, much like how it had been kept since the older men's arrival.

Alfred strode into the open room with little hesitation, setting the bundle he coddled on a stand somewhere in the corner. It looked as if the curtain was closed, the room so dim little in it was recognizable. It faced the couch, which appeared to contain some kind of lump resting on it…

Francis paled. Was that _Mattieu_? He was so very still…

Alfred's face knelt back down to camera level, though he didn't appear to be looking at it, his eyes searching for something resting behind. A red light blinked against his skin in the dark, focusing his attention on the lens. He frowned, moving a hand above it and caused the video to go black, effectively ending the clip.

Arthur allowed no time for Francis to bring back up their earlier exchange, wordlessly beginning the next recording.

* * *

The entire phone conversation dialog, in case anyone is too lazy to check out the original or has yet to read it (for shame!).

"'_Ello." _

_"Mattie! Don't get out of the car!" _

_"Eh? Alfred?" _

_"Mattie, buddy, you have to listen to me! Don't get out of the car! Turn around, get the hell out of here, whatever you have to do, just don't get out of the car!" _

_"Don't get…the hell, Alfred? What's gotten into you? Is this some kind of joke?" _

_"It's not a joke! He's coming for you!" _

_"Who's coming, eh…?"_

Also, it should be noted that I added an extra 'Mattie' from Alfred right after this, just to add to the mood I was going for.

French Translations:

Rosbif [French derogatory slang for the English, literally translates to 'Roast Beef', is comparable to the term 'Frog' from the English. Both refer to particular dishes for the corresponding countries, Frog referring to frog legs and Rosbif obviously being roast beef (it's a knock against their cooking skills, as always). Interestingly enough, Frog is also used against Quebecois, even if they don't speak French and are just from the area.]

Connard [This one ranges from meaning 'idiot' to 'jerk' to 'asshole' to 'motherfucker' from what I've seen. A very versatile word, apparently. Feel free to interpret Francis' use of it as you will. My original interpretation of it was 'idiot', just because this is Francis we're talking about. XD]

Last note:

In case it came off unclear, Alfred was searching for stuff for Mattie (really just a blanket, but with Alfred it has to be the perfect one, you know) when he 'rediscovered' the camera with his foot. Had to make up that part, as there needed to be a point A to point B offshoot or we'd be lost for the next scene. Sorry if it was a bit boring, I was going for realism, film-wise. Also, yes, the camera has a very sensitive microphone. That's why it could hear what was going on through the cabin floor. Don't question it! XD


	15. Zenith

Chapter 15

* * *

Arthur flatly ignored the Frenchman's attempts to begin their previous conversation again, pounding the tiny keys on the handheld device until they selected the next playable clip. Something fluttered nervously in his stomach as he noted that this was the final recording, but he indignantly disregarded that as well, focusing back on the dark frame.

The image appeared as a shot of the floor before the camera's light flickered on, tilting up to reveal Alfred, leaning against the doorway of the sitting room. His eyes were tight, and he blinked, clearing his voice before beginning.

"_That thing did something to Mattie_." While he tried his best to keep a strong tone, he couldn't help the break in his voice at the end. Letting loose a wavering sigh, the boy rubbed his eyes, fixing his glasses before refocusing on the camcorder. He was obviously shaken from whatever had happened, and Arthur could feel apprehension trickle down his back at this unfamiliar demeanor the child held. If this was just the beginning…

Enough of that! The past country on the camera is just that, in the past! Stop getting worked up over nothing!

The boy's nervous tenor batted over the speaker, stealing the Briton from his thoughts again.

"_I don't know what it was. He won't move. He won't speak. He won't even close his eyes. He's breathing, though – I guess that's something. But I don't think_…" The child swallowed thickly, burying his face in his hands in frustration. Through his clenched jaw, Alfred's next whispered words guilty jabbed the Englishman deep in his chest, the man on the tape's disappointment in himself seeping through as he spoke.

"…_I can't fix this. I'm a goddamn hero, and I can't even fix this stupid_…!" The end of his accusation choked off as the emotion swelled his throat. Alfred glanced behind him, turning the camera to reveal a bundled form resting on the couch. He was covered by some kind of blanket, head propped up by the same pillow the two had observed the boy snag earlier from the upstairs room. From this distance, he almost appeared asleep, despite the unnerving stillness of the resting body…

The thick curtains did well in blocking light from the moon, which was bright enough to leave silver leaking from the bottom of the frame. Alfred's gaze returned to the device, determination lit in his glowing eyes.

"_I have to get him out of here. If I can I get him somewhere…anywhere else, maybe one of the others…Arthur or Yao or, or hell, Kiku's into this freaky stuff…maybe they can fix this. Maybe they can fix him. But at least we won't be around that __**thing**__ anymore. We just have to get past him. Okay, just…think, Al. You can work this out_." The Briton forced down a prideful smile. There was his boy. He wasn't about to give up with a fight. That was the Alfred he raised.

With a frustrated exhale, the boy's eyes drifted from the screen in thought, quiet engulfing the room. The bright light dripping from the bottom of the window flickered, something blocking the light source, and Alfred seemed to stiffen at an unheard noise. Clenching his jaw, the boy refocused on the camera pointedly.

"_Okay. Okay, so…I know the knife hurt it. At least, it cut those tentacle things off, so that counts as hurting it, right? And the table…I hit it with a goddamn table and it just pulled itself together. So. So beating it up's not going to work, but maybe if I cut it_…" Table? Generally tables weren't one's first choice of weapon…Well that explained the lack of table in the kitchen now. Maybe that was part of the banging on the tape earlier. Leave it to Alfred to go overboard…

"_Matt's got a lot of knives in the kitchen. He has to, Francis always gives a big set as housewarming presents. If go at him with those, maybe…maybe I can beat him down_." At that the boy stood, resting the camera on the floor facing into the dark room and slinked off down the hallway, leaving the space to its self-imposed silence.

Arthur spent the quiet pondering what the child had mentioned in passing about fighting the beast. It couldn't be injured or physically damaged by blunt objects…It was affected by a knife, though he was unsure if it was permanently injured or if the creature could regenerate…It was clear whether or not he was, the monster retained more than enough energy to manage, its strength effected minimally if at all.

How to destroy it would be problematic. Obviously it was fast, that much was certain from everything he'd seen thus far. Arthur was unsure if that was result of the rapid growth it seemed to undergo from time to time. Stretching itself to unfathomable lengths… Getting close enough would be difficult. Even if that was possible, even if they could figure a way to 'kill' it, how would that affect Matthew?

The child was connected to the thing somehow, through control that evidently did not require some form of contact or physical totem. According to Alfred's accounts, the boy was immobilized, to the point where even his eyes could not be shut…a living death hibernation. While it seemed the creature's power was more susceptible to fracturing when the body was hidden from view, control still remained possible…

What Arthur did not understand was how any of this was feasible. Obviously the creature existed. Obviously it could manipulate the physical world. Obviously it was supernatural. But…how could any of it be possible? Alfred had said the thing was just a story. Something someone had made up. How could it have been created in the mind of another, yet still exist? And why did it choose to attack the boys?

Arthur's questions were shoved aside as a pair of feet strode back on the screen, dumping an armful of carving knives and a tiny box in front of the camera as he knelt down to be level with the device. Spreading them to lie flatly against the floor, Alfred tediously began organizing the blades in groups based on size. Selecting the ones he deemed best, the boy slipped the chosen many in a handkerchief before stuffing them haphazardly in his pocket.

Arthur couldn't help but blanch at the brassiness of the action, a sneaking suspicion as to where the child's leg injury had come from leaking into the back of his mind. Really, he shouldn't' be surprised. Sticking a fistful of pointy, dangerous tools in one's pocket? Certainly wouldn't put it past the boy. Idiot deserved the damn thing if he was stupid enough to pull a stunt like that.

Alfred grabbed for a small lighter (the tiny box Arthur noted from before) still resting on the floor, twirling it between his fingers for a moment in contemplation. Biting his lip, Alfred spoke more to himself than the camera, resolve thick in his voice.

"…_There's always the gas in the_ _car_," he murmured, sliding the lighter in the opposite pocket to the pile of knives. The determinative glint refracting off the American's eyes sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. When Alfred was set on something, truly single-minded over it, generally the desired objective came to pass. Or he wouldn't give up until it did eventually. Yet Matthew's car still sat in fairly good shape outside the house…

No doubt a daunting precursor to what was to happen.

Grabbing the small stack of weapons dubbed too little to be effective, with the exception of one or two larger knives that couldn't have fit into the "death pocket" if the boy had stuffed it half in his leg to hold it there, Alfred stood and moved them to rest on the center coffee table before shifting hesitantly to peak through the window. Relaxing the curtain, he looked back towards the lens with dark eyes.

"_I can't wait until the sun comes up. For all I know, this thing on Mattie's getting worse. He might not have the time._" Alfred paused, giving a thoughtful look to the lump resting on the couch. With a deep breath, he returned his gaze to the camera, a look of stanch tenacity layered over his features.

"_I can't risk waiting. I won't lose him_."

Striding back to rest beside the device again, the boy stared deeply into the eye of the lens, uninhibited resolve glaring back at the men observing the portal to this past. A shadow flickered again against the window's light, the film's frame jumping unexpectedly as the child spoke.

"_If this is all you guys find after this…I'm sorry. I guess I wasn't enough of a hero. But I have to at least try. I need to get Mattie home_."

Arthur found it hard to swallow, his tongue thick in his mouth at the words. The rational voice in his head telling him to stop his sniveling, that this wasn't relevant to what they were doing, that while this 'goodbye' may have been intended for him at one point in time, it was not now and that it would have been an awful goodbye in any case, so ignore the thing and pay attention to the tape and for godsakes stop blubbering about like a woman, was progressively getting quieter as the man in the tape reached for one of the remaining knives, standing.

Angrily clearing his throat, Arthur itched whatever it was in his eye that was causing him to tear up, attempting his very best to concentrate on the film. Damn house was too dusty. Must be affecting his allergies.

The frame split again just as Alfred's feet moved to exit the room. As he went, the couch returned to the camera's view, revealing it to be empty.

A hollow whistle smacked wetly into a thick object, punctuated by a pained exhale. The sound of glass breaking echoed the room. Something slammed into the wall the camera rested against, jarring the recorder on its side to reveal what appeared to be part of a foot. As it slid awkwardly into the frame, another wet TWACK reverberated about the room, causing more of the leg to collapse on screen.

It did not move in the silence that followed.

Arthur didn't bother look at Francis. Honestly, he didn't register him in his mind. His focus was strictly trained on the small LD screen in his hands, intermediately trying to restart his lungs when he bothered to remember.

A metal THUNK fell against the carpet somewhere behind the camera, followed by forced shuffling. Light fell across the floor at the sound of drapes being strung back, bleaching the carpet. Arthur could feel his eyes itch against the air, blinking all but forgotten.

The noise continued back towards the camera, stopping at what sounded like a few meters to the right, just a moment before a short jerk wrenched the leg visible in the frame, pulling it shortly to the side.

It dragged against the fibers limply.

Another short pull.

Another.

The motionless limb yanked out of the picture lifelessly.

The sound of the creature dragging the dead weight further into the room only caused the Briton to pale more, bile edging its way up the man's tight throat.

Sluggish movement filled the room, first at the center, then circling the outer rims in deliberate preciseness. Arthur could do little more than listen to the shuffling, his teeth on edge.

As the sounds continued, the Briton started to breathe through clenched jaw, managed to remind himself to blink, and even thought he felt his heart start back up to a slow, steady beat…

The ambling stopped with a suddenness that was rather daunting. Both men sat in silence, afraid to even breathe for what seemed like half a lifetime. With little forewarning, the camera shot up in the air, refocusing on a pair of dulled violet eyes.

* * *

It should be noted that this is Arthur's head, so it's organized a bit differently than some of the other's. Especially with his self-ranting. And his constant jumping to conclusions. And all his wild denying. Ah, Arthur, this is why we love you, after all…

Altered Lines:

"_But at least we won't be around that __**thing**__ anymore" _- I bolded 'thing', again, because I felt like it needed emphasized for this sequence.

Also, yes, that was my attempt at describing someone getting knocked unconscious and drug away. Hopefully it came across as such.


	16. Elucidation

Chapter 16

* * *

Francis felt ill.

The empty orbs that focused on the camera now were nothing like the malice-filled ones he had seen before when encountering the creature's controlled.

No. They were lifeless, glazed over copies of his bewildered child's eyes, sickeningly dull, but still _Mattieu's_.

Still _Mattieu_.

It was as if he were dazed, lost in some kind of dreamland. One which he was strung up like a rickety marionette with little choice in which strings he could move.

Blinking lazily back at the recording light, he dropped the camera to his side and slid forward, stopping only once he'd reached the bookshelf. The boy awkwardly shoved the camcorder on the ledge, adjusting the screen slightly as almost an afterthought.

He stared back at the camera for just a minute before shifting off screen to return to his scourings, revealing the room for the first time.

Alfred now sat bound in the center of it, head slack, a sliver of couch leaking on screen. Light poured in from the window behind the sofa, punctuated by a dark silhouette looming in the very center of the brilliant square. The towering shadow did more than block the bright moonlight streaming in through the window…it absorbed it…

The aimless blundering the boy took just along the edge of the frame was dauntingly the only motion in the picture, exemplified by the pure stillness of his twin in the chair.

Despite the shallow breathes he knew he could hear emitting from his partner on the floor, Francis could not tear his eyes from the screen to check on his friend's condition. Seconds ticked by, each feeling like a lifetime…

And then a flicker of the image. Hardly noticeable, but its presence was enough to cause an immediate change in the only moveable figure in the room. As if drawn to gaze out the brightly lit pane, _Mattieu_ strode to stand in the center of the square.

The black shadow noticeably shifted, slinking towards the boy's feet as he stared out the window. The sound crackled ominously.

When it touched the base of his toes, little was discernable on the film through the soft ticking of the frame. The child appeared to awaken at this touch, the shadow on the floor dulled. _Mattieu's_ own dark refection lengthened, glowing in malicious energies. His movement was sharper, less deadened as he turned to glance at the two men observing this hole in time.

A familiar dark sneer twisted its way across the blonde's face, as if the creature knew they were watching. Francis felt the revulsion claw its way up his throat, anger clenching his teeth painfully.

It was no longer his _Mattieu_.

He prayed the child was spared awareness along with control.

With that, the beast puppeteered the boy to the couch masterfully, sitting with a flourish and fixing his eyes upon the silent figure in the center of the room.

He sat still for a moment, the epitome of patience and grace.

And then a flicker of a frown upon the human face. Narrowing his eyes, the frame seemed to jump in response; Francis took note with increasing panic that what had once been _Mattieu's_ shadow began to stretch eerily towards the chair in the center of the room, in spite of the erratic beating of the frame. Unconsciously he held his breath, the screen bouncing viciously as the shadow reached out to touch Alfred….

And then the static stopped. It was deathly quiet.

Irrationally, Francis gazed at the screen, reflecting on the possibility of two possessed children.

And then Alfred's head rose stiffly, the grog of the blow still heavy in his movement. A smile slithered back across the doll's features.

_"Ah, good. You're awake." _

The bound nation lifted his eyes to meet the monster's, blood coating the left side of his face. It did nothing to conceal the translucent complexion he wore, filling with fear as he took in the scene before him.

Alfred growled, glaring viciously above the marionette's head, no doubt at the shadow hovering just beyond the seated boy and the sight of the screen. Had it not be for the darkness stretched across the back of the couch (much less noticeable than before, one could lose it if not careful), it would appear that _Mattieu_ was acting on his own accord…

Francis blinked, swallowing thickly. There was a shadow, he knew. This was not his _Petit_. No matter how it appeared on the film.

"_You've been out for quite a while, you know_," The child on the sofa spoke, malice slinking beneath his playful tone. "_It's been so long, I was starting to wonder if I'd hit you too hard. Good to see that wasn't the case_."

Alfred's glare deepened, releasing another incensed rumble. The shadow bleeding through the window reflected the one in the room frighteningly, their stance and demeanor mirror images of one another; a playful smirk lighting across the body's cocked head.

"_Not much for small talk, are you? Well, at least, you haven't been with me_." The mocking smile appeared to falter on the man's face for just a moment before continuing, "_That's all right. It's better to get to the point, anyway."_

Standing sharply, the ominous presence wandered to the center of the room, leering down at the restrained child. Alfred pointedly refused to cast him a glance, staring vehemently past the shadow's shoulder and out the bright window. The sneering boy ignored this, however, and lowed himself to face his captive at eyelevel.

"_Tell me_," the monster punctuated each word sharply, malice leaking though his syrupy draw, "_Where is the key_?"

Francis noted a level stare was all the beast received in response from the man, revealing nothing of his thoughts over the request. He tried again, tipping his head to the side and speaking in a manner generally reserved for small children.

"_I had Matthew here look around a bit while you were out, but this house of yours is just so big. It would be much faster if you would just tell me, don't you agree_?"

There as a pause, before Alfred narrowed his eyes, twisting his head defiantly to indirectly face the camera, displaying the cracked lens of his filthy glasses. A bitter smile lit upon _Mattieu's_ face at the movement, curdling the Frenchman's stomach.

He is not _Petit, _Francis reminded himself. No matter what that shadow forced his body to do, _**Mattieu**_ wasn't the one doing it.

With a dark chuckle, the puppet drummed his finger against his lip coyly, tilting his chin up in mock contemplation. The shadow traced the boy's movements, a dark mirror slithering across the pale carpet.

"_Not telling, eh? I suppose that can't be helped_." A devious sneer pulled at the edges of the controlled's lips. "_It seemed rude to search your clothes while you were asleep, but since that's not an issue now…_"

Without warning, a hand began probing vigorously over the captive, causing him to jump with a start. Alfred pulled back against the chair though the scouring, gritting his teeth as he drug against his binds. As the struggling continued, soft pained groans drifted from him in resistance.

The monster paused his hunt, tsking lightly as he drew the borrowed face's brow up in mock disappointment. He shook his head stiffly, indignantly narrowing his eyes as he spoke.

"_Really, Alfred, making such noises at your twin brother's touch. People will start to wonder about you_."

The creature took his responding silence to slide onto Alfred's lap, effectively straddling the thrashing brother. The child coughed thickly as he pulled harder against the ropes, fighting the movements of the fiend manipulating his twin's body. This did nothing to deter the shadow, inching closer and closer to the struggling boy in the chair despite his protesting strains. Edging closer, the vessel cupped his brother's face suggestively.

The Frenchman could feel heat rise in his throat. The utter abuse of _Mattieu's_ body was sickening. The demon was toying with them both. _Morceau de merde enculé_. If he had anything to say for it, Francis would make sure that beast would regret its actions…

The marionette smirked, batting his eyelashes provocatively. Gripping Alfred's chin tightly, he twisted it to face the camera as his own eyes glinted maliciously towards the lens.

"_Smile for the camera, brother dear_."

Alfred blinked owlishly though his cracked frames for a good moment. Francis couldn't help the tear at his heart as the child peered at the device with a frightened, bewildered stare, guilt chocking up his throat. He didn't dare look at _Angleterre_.

The beast took this opportunity to exploit his hold over _Mattieu_ further, dipping down to peck the dazed American on the cheek. He shot back at the motion, a repulsed hiss slipping from his lips, the camera forgotten.

_"You're a sick fuck." _

A sneer twisted across the captor's features, bitter humor biting up his throat. "_No surprise, given where I was born_." Frowning, the creature pulled away. "_Hm. So you didn't have it with you_." His voice darkened. "_Unfortunate_."

The being bent low over Alfred, malice shining from behind a polite tone. "_Are you going to tell me now?_"

The imprisoned child met his gaze unflinchingly, licking his lips with exaggerated flair. "_I swallowed it_."

"_Is that so_?" A dark cast brushed over the inquirer's features as he spoke, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register. Francis felt his stomach fall with boding fear. He could see the beast's fingers slither along his captive's waistband, dipping precariously behind his back.

The Frenchman's breath caught in his throat as a sharp, silver flash reflected back at the camera, the hand drawing from around his brother.

_"Then I suppose I'll have to get it for myself."_

Without warning, _Mattieu's_ undistracted fingers twisted through Alfred's hair, wrenching it sharply back, the boy's taunt throat exposed to the glinting carver poised above it. A tight grunt could be heard from Alfred, his back arching in response to the painful jerk.

He squirmed briefly in protest before the point of the knife was lowered to sit loosely against the boy's abdomen. He stiffly waited for the puppet to speak, the light tremble he fought to hide from the other ever visible on the film.

"_I could do it, you know_," the voice trilled nonchalantly, the malice from before nearly wholly replaced by perturbed excitement. "_You two are so much sturdier than the humans I've had before. I bet I could slice you wide open and play all my favorite games and still keep your yummy souls intact without even trying._"

Francis couldn't help but choke at the words, bile forced up his throat at the mere mental image. That kind of torture, even between other countries, it was…unthinkable…

The demon let loose a hysterical laugh, excitement beaming in his eyes as a sickening grin weaved across the face which did not belong to him. The dark shadow bleeding across the carpet danced back and forth with the same jubilance. "_This, this will be so much fun. I won't have to be careful at all, and I can do anything. Anything_!"

"_Do it then_," Alfred spit through grit teeth, glaring up under the rims of his glasses at the marionette. "_You won't get anything from it_."

The monster's glee drained instantaneously, his grin drooping to a tight frown. Indigo eyes narrowed.

_"So you lied to me." _

Giving a tart laugh, Alfred forced a cynical smirk at the beast, "_Sorry to bust your bubble._" Alfred guffawed on, ignoring the frightful cast against his aggressor's features.

Without warning, Alfred's dry laughter strangled off, dying deep in his throat as the blade plunged into the boy's leg. Numbly, Francis noticed the device had begun to tremble, but the utter horror of the pictures on it prevented any further thought on the matter.

The older man cringed as the monster twisted the carver farther into the child, enticing a strangled cry of pain as it drove deeper and deeper, blood pouring from the wound and adorning the carpet with violate drips of scarlet. Francis couldn't compel his eyes away, the horrific scene freezing thoughts and movements alike. All he could do is watch.

The creature leaned closer to Alfred, hissing impatiently to him, hand still gripping the weapon sheathed in the boy's leg.

"_You're not playing fair, Alfred."_ His eyes narrowed, pressing the blade deeper with each punctuated word, "_Not_. _Fair. At. All_."

"_And you are?"_ The other nation snarled through clenched teeth, his voice rough with exhaustion. He was met with a level glare from the beast looming above.

The knife was wrenched free, stirring another cry from the captive as it slid from his flesh. Tossing Alfred's hair loose, the creature brought the carver to _Mattieu's_ lips, smearing the bitter crimson across them. He inhaled the scent deeply as Alfred worked to regain steady breaths through his thick, pained coughing.

Refocusing on his prisoner, the shadow forced the knife back at Alfred's throat. The boy stiffened to avoid they already soiled blade further, his face returning to the defiant mask it had been before. "_At this rate_," the beast mocked, hidden spite leaking forward, "_Matthew will have all of my fun for me_."

Alfred's demeanor shifted at the mention of his brother, sharp concern glinting against his guarded eyes. His tone remained heavy as he responded to the creature, "_What did you do to him_?"

_Mattieu's_ features turned up malevolently at the other's words, a vile sneer slithering across his face in retort. "_Guess_."

Alfred seemed for forget himself for a moment, rage dissolving his disciplined façade at the creature's snide response. "_You son of a_ –"

"_Uh-uh-uh_." The knife depressed into the bare flesh of Alfred's neck, dotting it with blood from its previous conquest. "_You'll find out soon enough. Once you give me the key_."

Bitter humor leaked through the child's words, an almost hysterical tone causing Francis to cringe at the boy's outright blatant disregard for his delicate situation. The rebellious mask returned to Alfred's features as he spoke, "_You _really_ think I'm gonna tell you that_?"

"_Oh, you'll tell me_," A cool assurance rolled off the menacing figure as he leaned closer to the bound man. He slid the carver up Alfred's throat, leaving a crimson trail behind it, a frigid sneer gliding across the beast's face. It was startled away by Alfred's sudden retort.

"_Or what_?" coughing a challenge at the monster, a dangerously self-righteous smirk lit across the child's features despite the large blade pointed against his neck. Frowning at the insubordinate talk from his captive, the beast bent lower over him, a menacing cast to his face. Alfred disregarded him and glared out the window.

"_Or Matthew here will have no choice but to do some very unpleasant things to you until you comply—"_

"_Not Matthew, __**you**__. None of this is him, you're just using his body to play your sick games" _Alfred paused, his face betraying a bitter humor._ "And when you're done throwing your little temper tantrum, you'll realize you did all this for _**nothing**_. Because there's no way in hell you'll ever get your hands on Matt. I won't let you._"

A stiff laugh shook the room, drawing the other's eyes from the window pane for a split second in surprise. A humorless grimace wiped across the beast's features at the child's words, his tight eyes focusing on Alfred. Lightly tapping the bound boy's cheek, he swung away gleefully when the child bit back at him in retort.

"_Oh dear boy don't you realize I already have_?" His tone sobered as he continued, turning to glare back down at Alfred as he twirled the knife dispassionately. "_He works for me now. He and I are one and the same. Matthew is nothing but a vessel. There's no point in delaying the enviable. Why continue to suffer when you could just _join us_ and end all this needlessness_?"

"_You're WRONG_!" Alfred roared, glaring poisonously passed _Mattieu_ out the pane, choosing to focus on the puppeteer rather than his doll. _"Matthew's strong, he won't let some fucker like you erase him, and neither will I. There's no way in hell you're getting in here. I've made sure of it. __**You've already lost**_."

The creature growled, pouncing at Alfred, screeching in anger, "_You_ _insolent little beast! I WILL find that key, and when I do you will suffer pain only know in the darkest depths of hell!_"

The boy ignored the threat, laughing haughtily, his eyes still staring boldly off-screen behind the figure.

"_Hah, I've heard more intimidating lines from Arthur. You don't scare me_."

The fiend stared incredulously at the American, before forming _Mattieu's_ face into a mask so full of hate it was little recognizable to Francis any longer. Infuriated, the beast grasped at Alfred's chin laboriously, struggling to twist the defiant boy to face him.

"_Look at me!"_ the creature hissed, despite Alfred's unwavering gaze at the window. The screen jumped at his command, the garble rising and falling with the film. Francis swallowed. Remembering himself, he turned to face his companion. The Englishman was a ghostly complexion, his eyes glazed and empty as they focused on the flashing screen.

"Arthur."

Francis could hear Alfred's snide retort despite the distorted sound, his stomach clenching in fear of the impending result of the child's words. He dare not look at the screen.

"_I am_." The static grew louder, but a sharp growl skittered over it with little trouble. The Frenchman ignored it, stretching his hand to reach for the camera.

"Arthur," Francis urged again, attempting to force the waiver from his whisper, "Turn it off."

The scattered noise grew in dimension, yet the enraged voice cut through as clear as day, echoing about the room in an unfathomable volume.

"_Well, if you will not use your eyes as I command_—"

Francis tried his very best to ignore the booming voice. He tried to recapture his friend's attention. He tried to force the camera from the Briton's stony grasp.

"Arthur. Arthur, turn it off now."

The noise was becoming unbearably loud. Francis' thoughts raced, struggling to tear the device from the Englishman's fingers.

"Arthur! Arthur, let go!"

"—_**then I will take them from you**_!"

The machine's sudden release sent the Frenchman flying backwards. He landed roughly on his side, knocking the device against the ground as he fell.

All was silent.

Francis lay still for several moments after the sounds from the camera ceased, afraid to move and inadvertently cause them to begin again. Ever so slowly, he shifted his weight, revealing the recording device.

It now lay on the floor in several pieces, its viewing screen a fair distance away from the rest of the mangled mess. Francis sifted through the bits, ascertaining that it was indeed inoperable, before turning to face Arthur again.

He met the Englishman's eyes in one glance. Any façade he held before, the years of practice in concealing his emotions, the tough outer shell he had built for himself, everything had all fallen. The Briton's lip quavered, searching, pleading for any excuse to defend himself for his current state against the Frenchman's gaze.

Before Arthur could, however, Francis turned to stand, announcing in a quiet mutter his intention to look over the two sleeping boys, for fear they had woken because of the sound.

He would allow the prideful man a chance to collect himself.

Lord knew he would need one.

* * *

Altered Lines:

"_Not_. _Fair. At. All_." - Added periods, again to maintain the tone, just so it flowed better with how I described the scene.

"_Or Matthew here will have no choice but to do some very unpleasant things to you until you comply—"_ - This is the last of the dialog taken from 'Slender'. The rest is my own. Again, hopefully it flows well enough together. Dammit Alfred! You and your big mouth…

French Translation:

_Morceau de merde enculé_ [piece of shit bastard]

Okay, if it wasn't apparent, I tried to make Francis' references to Matthew progressively 'less human'. He starts off calling him "Mattieu", or "the boy/child", or whatever, then he moves to "shadow" or "puppet", and then he refers to him as "beast" or "demon". That's supposed to reflect his viewing emotions.

One chapter left!


	17. Envisage

Chapter 17

* * *

Arthur sat on the floor, his mind racing as he listened to the Frenchman shuffle about behind him, trying his very best to regain control over his erratic thoughts. As they settled, they were replaced with an almost more fervent set of berating ones.

God you're such an idiot. Look at how you're behaving? What are you, a woman? Get it together! All this ridiculous blathering is getting us nowhere! Even the frog is smart enough to get that! Jesus, the fool probably saw you in this state. Damn bastard won't let you live it down if you keep this up! Man up, for godsake!

The Briton took a deep breath before standing, straightening himself. Now was not the time for reflection over what he had witnessed on the tape, only for planning and doing what needed to be done. After all, it was all in the past. No sense in dwelling on it if it did not directly affect the present.

But it did. Alfred's disparaging state was result of what he'd witnessed. How could he put that out of his mind? How could he brush aside the child's suffering? How could he overlook what that creature had done, to Alfred's body and Matthew's mind? Things that Arthur was unsure he could ever repair…

He could feel himself breaking again. He needed to do something, busy himself. He would handle it at another time. Just a distraction, just something to allow him to regroup.

Circling the couch, he couldn't help moving to kneel beside Alfred, once again sprawled across the piece of furniture haphazardly, lying on his stomach. His stifled snore was buried in the cushion with his face, the sheet Francis had brought with him to cover both the boys twisted around one of his legs.

The Frenchman was currently attempting to untangle the cloth, and apparently having a devil of a time managing it. Francis, thankfully, ignored him in favor of his task, muttering in French at the mess Alfred had caused.

Arthur debated flipping the idiot over to prevent him from suffocating, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to wake the boy up with him being so obviously tired. If he was comfortable that way, so be it. It wasn't like Alfred would stay where he was placed anyway…

…Besides, Arthur wasn't sure if he could hold himself together…were he to see that blindingly white bandage over the American's still face…

Before standing, Arthur rested the back of his hand against the side of the slumbering child's cheek. While it was not the…injured…side of his face, it was still a healthy pink, and not unnaturally warm for Alfred, so the Briton felt confident enough to let the boy be, for now. He would be sure to check on him again soon enough.

The Englishman rolled his eyes as he refocused at the other end of the couch, where Francis _still_ struggled with the balled up blanket. It looked like he was about to tear the American man's leg off. Arthur decided it was about time he step in and show the imbecile how it was done.

"Give me that," he hissed, shooing the taller man away and taking hold of the mass of sheets. He found little difficulty in the task, and soon, almost obscenely so considering Francis' toils, the blanket covered both children snuggly once again.

Gently tucking a small portion under Matthew to prevent Alfred from stealing the whole thing again (or at least for a bit longer), Arthur finally straightened and faced the Frenchman standing off behind him, more than proud of himself for succeeding at his own self-imposed task. Francis did little more than roll his eyes at the smug grin on the other's face.

"Do not be so arrogant, _Angleterre_. Only you with your delinquent pirating skills could manage that child's snare of a pair of legs. It is a miracle in itself 'e can function without your 'talents'."

"I've told you a hundred times, Frog, I was a privateer. There is a _big difference_."

"Pirate, privateer, same set of letters, same thing, _non_? Just rid yourself of the extra 'r', 'v' and 'e', and _viola_! You 'ave gotten rid of that silly little pretense you 'ide behind as well. Really _mon_ _cher_, honesty is the very best policy. You should try it some time, _oui_?" The man chuckled, turning away to pour himself a glass of water before Arthur had a chance to retort. Stupid toad. He didn't have to prove anything to him.

The Briton had just thought of the perfect comeback when the Frenchman turned back around, arm stretched out towards him with a second glass of his own. Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but snatched the glass from Francis' waiting hand. Sipping it _gentlemanly_, the Englishman ignored the self-righteous grin on the other's face in favor of nursing his cup.

A comfortable silence fell over the two, both gazes drifting to the napping boys. Alfred was now on his side, his arm bent awkwardly behind him to maintain his tedious balance on the couch. Matthew appeared to be holding his own on the blanket front, but the American's foot had snaked around the middle of the stretched sheet, and one good twist would loosen his brother's hold enough to reclaim the entire thing for himself.

Arthur shrugged, sighing loudly. He would fix it later. Besides, maybe if he let them be long enough, Matthew would man up and finally steal the damn thing back.

His thoughts were interrupted by a subsequent sigh from the Frenchman beside him, and Arthur turned to inquired what he was on about. The other's stare remained fixed on the two on the couch, a tight frown playing across his lips. Francis spoke without prompting.

"So what is it we are to do now?" The inquiry took Arthur off guard for a moment. Eyebrows furrowed, he posed a careful question to the older man.

"What do you mean?" The Frenchman turned to face him at this, his lips pulling into a deeper scowl.

"I mean, what is it we do about this monster? We cannot very well live 'ere our 'ole lives. And the longer any of us are around it, especially _Mattieu_, the more likely we are fall under the creature's spell." Francis paused, considering something for half a second before continuing. Did the Briton imagine the look of guilt stretched across his companion's features?

"And without food, starving will become a problem." Arthur bit his lip. The frog was right. Lack of food might not kill them, but it would put them in a weak enough state to label any help they brought with them ineffectual.

When he did not respond, Francis spoke again, "Come, _Angleterre_. You must know something about this beast. You are so well versed in the occult, surely there is something we can do to destroy it. Or make it so it cannot follow."

Arthur looked away from the pleading Frenchman uncomfortably. This was way out of his league. A creature created from a story, as far as they could tell. If there was no precedent, how was he to know how to destroy it? How was he of any help?

But…Perhaps…

"Let…Give me some time. I think I have something that can be done, but…Let me think on it first before we try anything. We must be certain before we take any action, big or small. The last thing we need is to injure one of us in the process. We must keep handle on this situation, at all costs."

Francis nodded solemnly, moving forward to straighten the wayward sheet which, as predicted, had been cast aside by Alfred's foot. He noted the Canadian was now trembling, no doubt from the draft that was circling the room, poor boy.

The Frenchman moved from one end of the couch to the other slowly, trying to assure a repeat incident would be at least a little further off. Tucking a bit beneath Matthew as Arthur had before, he spoke in a staid tone.

"We mussent allow the children to 'andle this alone again."

* * *

Privateer: Hired pirates

Yes, I know "mustn't" is spelled wrong in the last sentence, but I imagine Francis saying it phonetically, so that's how I spelled it. It just doesn't roll of the tongue with that wayward 't' in there, does it?

And yes, Francis was contemplating telling Arthur about his little 'encounter' with Slendy. Whether or not he will in the future is still up in the air. We will see. I'm not sure how well Arthur would take that news, and I'm sure Francis wouldn't want him panicked over nothing…After all, nothing _really_ happened…Right?

Last chapter for now. I will get right on the next one, but don't expect it until the weekend. All this editing is tough on the fingers…


	18. Foment

An anonymous review reply before I start, just because I hate to leave you without a reply with all the time you spent on your review:

Darkfire Kitten

My bad on the not letting everyone know there were multiple chapters being posted at once. ^^' It slipped my mind, I was just going edit crazy last week. Next time I do a big post like that, I will be sure to include a warning at the top of each page.

Thank you for all the help! I am a failure with grammar rules, and I was so confused about those two words throughout the entire writing of those last chapters. Unfortunately, I am too focused on getting the newer chapters (and lazy) to go back and take care of the 'passed'/'past' issue right at this moment, but I will when I finish this thing and do my massive 'reedit' at the end. Don't you worry, I'll fix it eventually!

Also, I apologize that it wasn't exactly as far in as you would have liked to have seen with the confrontation/reaction bit, I had (in one of my many versions of the piece) tried to go further with Alfred and Slendy!Matt with the eye cutting, just to show how strong Alfie was through the whole thing, but it ended up sounding like crap and the guys' reactions began to sound redundant. "Arthur was shocked. Francis couldn't breathe. BILE!" XD I just didn't want it taking away from the rest of the story for the sake of a few more seconds of tape. But just for what happened after it, no reactions, that was pretty much that whole first section of the first chapter, the part that was in Slendy's POV? If you are insistent on knowing reactions or my personal thoughts on it though, feel free to shoot me a PM and I'll type something up for you, though in no way am I guarantying it's any good. In fact, it'll probably be pretty bad. Just sayin'. There was a reason I cut it. XD

Also about the eye thing…I can totally see where you got it (with the whole "coppery taste" in Mattie's mouth in Chapter 1, but that was actually from him licking the knife), but he just crushed it, no eating involved. Though if you'd like to continue to believe that, more power to you. Gosh, just imagine Mattie's revelation to THAT. O.e Poor baby. I think he'd have to be institutionalized after doing something like that. Probably wouldn't eat again.

AN:

Alright, I am submitting two chapters tonight, and I have to say, the reason it took so damn long was because despite my well thought out plan when I got to these parts, the characters completely threw it away. The original plan did not incorporate half of what is in this all. But whatever. Hopefully me letting them go makes it better. We shall see. Also, I want to post a third chapter, which again, wasn't a part of the original plan, at least the way it enters it, but I'm not sure how long it will take in completing and editing. I will try and get it up ASAP because I don't want the flow of the story disrupted too long. I can see about 6 or so more chapters after all this, if things stick to my plan (which seems more often than not is thrown to the wayside). Wish me luck. XD

* * *

Chapter 18

* * *

When Matthew felt himself fade into consciousness he squeezed his eyes tight, trying very hard to hold onto his dream just a bit longer (what was it about? Toasters and blankets and college kids? Ugh, he was forgetting it already…). His stomach growled, demanding it be fed, but he ignored it defiantly. It would have to be patient and shut up, because he was going to nap for as long as he damn well pleased.

He could hear a low rumble of voices in the back of his ears, but they were still so fogged in sleep-coated numbness, Matthew couldn't make much sense of them. And any stray words he did make out faded away within seconds...

His thoughts drifted back to the quilt and the oven he was dreaming about before, trying viciously to piece it together for just a few more minutes of restfulness. Matthew struggled to ignore the garble that was just prevalent enough to be heard but too quiet to be understood. The snatches of words had become broken phases.

"…_we do about…cannot very…'ole lives. And the longer …Mattieu…to fall under…a problem…"_

Was that his name? He couldn't tell. Ah, it didn't matter…ignore the stupid voices, think of the microwave and the coat, whatever it was they were doing, just go back to sleep…

"…_something about this…surely there…cannot follow…"_

Save the light breeze that Matthew have just become aware of, he was very comfortable. He could feel himself relaxing millimeter by millimeter, the tranquil feeling climbing over him ever so slowly. He'd even managed to ignore the clawing of his stomach, its twists more than easy enough to push away with the promise of sleep…

"…_some time…before we try anything…big or small. The last thing…this situation, at all costs…"_

It was a recognizably different voice which spoke this time, yet he still was able to appreciate little from the words. Ugh, you're thinking too much on this Matthew. Just go back to sleep already!

The air breathing across him was beginning to become a nuisance, not aiding his quest for slumber in any way, but Matthew tried his best to ignore it. He could not, however, ignore the sudden insatiable itch that tickled after each inhale. Reaching up, he rubbed his nose awkwardly, trying to gratify the acute irritation.

And then he froze, his hand still against his face.

Matthew's eyes shot open, tiredness all but gone as he focused on the blurry fingers he held up, little light revealing them in the cramped cushion his face was buried in. Vaguely he noted they had begun to shake, but he ignored this in favor of repeating the question circling his thoughts.

If he was tied up, if Arthur and Francis are here,_ if Alfred is safe_, then why was he able to move his hand?

He could feel his warm breath brushing more frequently against his fingertips as he stared on. Had Matthew been paying attention, he would have noticed the uncomfortable cool draft had all but disappeared, replaced by a thin fabric draped over him. He would have heard the Frenchman leaning from above as he tucked the sheet beneath him, speaking a hushed phrase to the other in the room.

"We mussent allow the children to 'andle this alone again." He would have realized the suffocating fears that raced through his head were unfounded, as both his guardians and Alfred were little more than 10 feet away, all unharmed.

No, he didn't register any of this. Not when Francis became quiet as his gaze focused on the Canadian's shivering form. Not when he swore, in French no less, at allowing his attention to lapse enough to cause the boy to catch the chills. Not even when the Frenchman demanded from Arthur another thicker blanket, rather frantically, as he knelt beside the sofa to better adjust his quivering child.

No, Matthew didn't notice anything above the trembling fingers at eye level. Disbelief distorted to fear, fear and speculation over how he had come to this particular position. His heart thumped painfully in his chest at each racing thought. The previous voices had been completely forgotten, creating more and more terrifying images in his mind's eye. Each became worse than the last. His kept breath burned a fiery hole deep in his lungs.

However, the second Francis brushed Matthew's forehead with the bare back of his hand, intending nothing more than to check the child's temperature, the Canadian startled, flinching away from the touch.

Matthew moved quickly, nearly knocking Francis down as he rose and rallied himself in defense. He blinked wildly at where he presumed the Frenchman to be standing (as he was currently blind without his glasses; he just assumed the large tall blur was the man's general presence).

Francis trained a concerned gaze on the strung child in response. The boy appeared very much like a cornered animal, confusion settling over his features.

Before Matthew could pose one of the many questions beating about in his scattered mind, Francis closed the gap between them, offering reassuring words as he moved closer.

"It is alright, _mon Petit_, you are safe. It is just me. Do not be frightened." As he moved close enough for the Canadian to properly see it was indeed Francis, the man pulled a thin object from his shirt pocket, slipping it onto the quiet boy's face. The room instantly cleared. The Frenchman offered a worried smile when the child's nervous focus rested on him again.

"There we are. 'Ow are you feeling? I told _Angleterre_ to fetch another blanket for you, I feared you were chilled…Come, sit on the sofa, 'e will be back in a moment. I do not want you to be on your feet if you are ill."

Francis began to move back towards the couch, assuming the obedient child to follow him. However, Matthew did not move. He wasn't going to do anything until he figured out what the hell was going on.

"Why am I not in the chair anymore?" The question was level, carefully phrased, and Francis turned to face the boy again, an eyebrow quirked at the tone Matthew displayed. As if not sure what to do with the question, but happy to answer it nevertheless (so long as the boy heed his sitting advice quickly afterwards), the Frenchman replied.

"_Angleterre_ untied you. 'E…'E thought you might sleep better without those nasty ropes of 'is. It does not matter now, anyway. It was just a precaution, we will not be needing them again, so do not worry about it. Now come sit dow—"

"What do you mean not needed? I don't understand. What are you talking about? I thought the whole point of you being here was to protect Alfred?"

Francis looked utterly bewildered at this, glancing over his shoulder at the sofa behind them. "But Alfred is safe. 'E is resting right over there, right where you were. _Mon Petit_, per'aps you are overly tired. Come and sit—"

Matthew was beginning to get angry. Was the Frenchman not taking him seriously? Of course his brother wasn't safe, not if Matthew wasn't kept restrained! Wasn't that the whole point? Alfred needed protection, protection from him!

"You guys are supposed to be keeping him out of harm's way. Why are you risking it? I'm not safe around him." The older man's brow drew together, an anxious frown resting on his tight lips.

"_Mattieu_, you are not making any sense, calm do—" Matthew cut Francis off before he could finish, fury rising with each cool accusation.

"_Calm down_? You are risking Alfred's life like it's nothing, and you're expecting me to **calm down**? How can you not take this seriously? Do you not care about him? Do you not care about what he's been through?" The Frenchman scrambled to respond, stepping back to reassure the hysterical boy.

"That is not it at al—"

"Then what is? What is it that makes it okay for you to completely disregard his wellbeing? Why are you being so reckless?" The Canadian was beginning to feel his vehement anger grate at his throat, but continued his whispered respite regardless. It was shocking to him that his guardians would be so utterly disregarding of the singular task that brought them here.

Francis tried again, his eyes pleading with the boy to understand, just to listen for a minute. Matthew didn't want to.

"_Mattieu_, you will not—" The cold fire that burnt solemnly beneath Matthew's eyes took the remainder of the Frenchman's words away. The boy began again with quiet anger trailing his voice.

"I won't what? Hurt him? How do you think he ended up like this in the first place? What do you think will happen? What the hell makes you think it won't happen again, Francis? What makes you so arrogant you'd be willing to risk this? Think for once, will you, before you do more harm than good!"

Francis' painful eyes almost forced the Canadian to take back his hurtful words, to deny them and apologize. But the slightest glance at the couch reaffirmed his resolve, and he forced another level glare the Frenchman's way.

Francis managed to regain his voice, summoning a comforting tone to help the child understand.

"That is not it at all, _Petit_. I care very much for you both, I would never let anything happen that I was not absolutely sure of first. It was not yo—"

The cracked door burst open, revealing the missing Englishman with a cumbersome blanket layered in his hands, large enough to require both arms to contain it. He strode into the room, disregarding the situation in favor of setting the enormous comforter on the nearby table. Huffing loudly, he turned to face the others.

"Alright, I found another ruddy one, took me long enough to track it down; all the damn beds are stripped, Francis, you're lucky I spotted this one under th—Matthew, what on earth are you doing up?" Arthur's tone shifted to one of concern as he turned, blinking as he took in the standing boy for the first time. No doubt seeing the Frenchman's pleading expression, Matthew spoke before the other man could inquire again, his demands straightforward.

"Arthur, you need to tie me back up." Confusion cased the older man's features and the Briton glanced back at Francis for an answer. Receiving none, he stepped closer to the child.

"What? What are you talking about?" Matthew stepped forward to meet him, his voice level.

"I mean you need to restrain me before I do any more damage. I have no idea what was going through your head earlier, but we need to manage the current situation as quickly as possible." Spying the bundled rope on the counter, the Canadian grabbed it and shook it encouragingly at Arthur. "Here. Hurry, before Alfred wakes up."

The Englishman's brow furrowed, shaking his head at the mistaken child. "Matthew, I trust you won't do anything to require that level of confinement now. Besides, even if something were to happen, both Francis and I would be here to deal with it appropriately." Arthur pointedly glanced at the hovering man beside him, who nodded enthusiastically in response. Fixing his gaze back on the quiet child, he pressed on, reaching out to retrieve the rope from his outstretched hands.

"There's no reason for that. Now give me these." Arthur's fingers just barley wrapped around the fibers before they were pulled harshly from him.

Matthew's eyes focused on the Briton, hard and cold. He didn't understand how they could be so casual over such an imperative matter. Especially Arthur. He could see Francis doing this, the man's emotions got the best of him sometimes, Matthew knew that well enough. But Arthur? Not Arthur. He was the level headed one. He was the voice of reason. He was the one who would protect Alfred from any threat, big or small. Or at least, Matthew thought he would…

"_What is wrong with you_?" Matthew's voice had become more than a hissed whisper, his blatant words ringing out against the quiet of the room, stealth all but forgotten. The Englishman's eyes narrowed, confusion mixing with annoyance at the boy's question.

"Excuse m—"

"You heard me. I thought you of all people would take care of this, Arthur. Of everyone—I just can't believe you'd care so little. You're hurting Alfred." Matthew's voice climbed in volume, his unwavering ire seeping through each phrase. The Briton paused in recoil, indignation spilling in reaction to the child's rude accusation.

"I am doing no such thin—"

"Alfred had you come because he _thought_ you could help protect him. And here you are destroying the little reassurance you have to prevent a repeat incident? How can you do this to him?" The Canadian's words broke at the end, and he did nothing to calm the simmering anger boiling beneath his skin.

Arthur exhaled, attempting to reclaim his composure. Surely the child was confused, and getting angry over it would do little to help either party. Beginning again, the older man tried to regain the situation through collected words.

"Matthew, you don't know what you're even talki—"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about, Arthur." The young man's words bit at the Englishman furiously, his eyes tight. Swallowing thickly, Matthew continued, his gaze softening on the Briton, anger consumed by guiltful remorse.

"I know what I did. I did this to him, intentionally or not. And my being able to walk around is just risking his life further." Closing his eyes, the boy inhaled, trying to steady his wavering breath.

"Please…think this through. You know this isn't right." Matthew's voice now steadier, he reopened his eyes to face Arthur, revealing the older man's distraught features. He looked pained and tried to reason with the child again.

"Matthew…Come now, don't be difficult. This is for the best. No amount of arguing on your part will change that."

The Canadian could feel his heart sink at the man's response. His anger, his reason, it had done nothing to convince the others. They still intended to disregard him. What would happen if he was left unrestrained?

Fear pulled at Matthew's breast, fear of what would most certainly happen again. He may not understand how or why he had become like this, why his body disregarded his mind, attacked his loved ones, why he had become a monster…but he had to do whatever it took to protect everyone, his family_, his brother_. What he had already done was more than he could take…How could he do anything else? If he hurt him again…

"You don't understand. I don't want…I can't do it, Arthur. I can't…not again. Please…" Matthew glanced down to his hands, lightly running his finger over the rope that snaked around his other wrist. The Briton's resolve faltered at the desperate state of the child, and he reached forward, intending to rest a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Matthew, I—"

"What the hell are you doing?"

All eyes turned to face the source of the outcry, silence encompassing the space as each reflected that their voices had been quite a bit more than a whisper. That, in fact, it had been enough to wake the one person in the room their conversation revolved around. The one person who they all least wanted involved in their exchange.

Alfred leaned against the couch, angry and confused gaze stretched across the group.

* * *

Next chapter!


	19. Lucidity

Second post for the day. This chapter took me for a loop, much different than I originally imagined, but oh well...

* * *

Chapter 19

* * *

"—_to him?"_

Alfred startled from his slumber at the loud shout, his eyes shooting wide open to reveal the back of a couch. Taking a large breath to calm his nerves, pumped full of adrenaline from the suddenness of the noise, he blinked several times to clear the fog from his vision.

The voices had gone down from their original volume, to more of a whisper, which, if Alfred tried really hard, he could ignore completely. As it stood now, he didn't give them much attention anyway, choosing instead to brood over his disrupted sleep.

And he was having such a good dream too…

"_Please…think this through. You know this isn't right."_ The voice peeked back up, clearer now, stronger than the hisses before. Alfred, confused, tilted his head to better understand what was being said. If he didn't know any better, that was…his brother's voice…?

A reluctant British tenor floated up in response, his impassible tone one which the listening boy vaguely registered as Arthur's. It seemed he was adamant about something, something he wasn't willing to bend on.

"_Matthew…Come now, don't be difficult. This is for the best. No amount of arguing on your part will change that."_

That took Alfred off-guard, stirring him into wakefulness. What was so important that Mattie would willingly go against Arthur on? He rarely stood up to anyone, preferring a conflict-free resolution than to cause a scene with his opinion…Alfred was confused.

Turning just the slightest on the couch (carefully to prevent teetering off the tiny thing), Alfred squinted towards the others convened in the center of the room.

He could see both Matthew and Arthur, as well as Francis, who stood quietly behind the latter, rocking nervously on his heels. His hands fidgeted as well, while his gaze remained on the boy isolated from the three. Matthew held something in his hands, something thin and long which held his own eyes. As he spoke, his voice much quieter than before, the Canadian twisted it tensely between his fingertips.

"You don't understand. I don't want…I can't do it, Arthur. I can't…not again. Please…"

Alfred's heart ached at his twin's words, his mind desperately searching for whatever could possibly make him so visibly upset. His gaze fell on the object in his brother's hands, identifying it as a rope.

A rope? Why would rope make him—

The conclusion barreled through Alfred's thoughts, dispersing any disparaging evidence to the contraire. Obviously Matthew was afraid of being tied up again. But why would he need to be? Slenderman couldn't get to him now, right? That was the only reason before, and now that he was in control of himself again, there was no point.

…And yet Arthur had said it was '_for the best'_. That nothing the Canadian said or did would change that. That despite his brother's observable terror at being bound again, and whatever had led to him being untied in the first place, it was unimportant and was to be disregarded.

Alfred could see his brother trembling from the couch, his slight flinch as the Briton reached out towards him, most likely to begin restraining the poor frightened boy. Alfred felt protective ire filter through his veins, and forced himself up from his seat despite the deep throb beating up his leg. He wasn't sure why Arthur was doing this, but it wasn't good for Mattie, and the last thing his brother needed right now was to feel more upset, more alienated, more _alone_. No. Matthew didn't need any of that.

"Matthew, I—"

"What the hell are you doing?"

Everyone turned to face him, startled silence encasing the room as his presence was discovered. Alfred rested a level glare on the Briton, stumbling forward when no response was offered, his voice low.

"I asked you a question, Arthur. What. Is going. On." The Englishman stumbled over himself for a moment, trying to regain his composure from the other child's sudden entrance. Alfred took this opportunity to move between Arthur and his brother, who skittered back unnoticed in response.

His resting had done little to aid the stiffness in his leg, and Alfred leaned heavily on his right one to balance himself. He tried his very best to look intimidating.

Arthur had resigned himself to silence, no doubt feeling guilty caught in the act. The American grew impatient.

"Well? Are you going to explain or not? Or will I have to spell it out for you? I heard enough to know what's going on. And I'm with Mattie on this one."

The Englishman's face filled with confusion, than shame. Francis, who probably was a part of this as well, considering where he stood, noticeably gawked at Alfred, brow furrowed in bewilderment at the other's words.

"Surely, Alfred, you do not mean to agree with _Mattieu_—"

"I do. And I think it's wrong of you to do anything otherwise." After all, Matt was fine now. There was no reason he should have to suffer anymore than the rest of them. So long as someone kept an eye out and the blinds were closed, they all should be safe for the time being. Right?

Arthur, silently returning the American's stare, finally spoke. "Lad…Are you certain this is how you feel the situation should be…handled?" The Briton's unsteady voice did little to hinder the boy's stiff response, issuing a curt nod as he answered.

"Yes."

Glancing to the roof as if he would regret his decision, Arthur released a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. "Fine. So be it. Matthew, come here. I'll do as you requested."

Alfred felt his pride swell as his brother stepped around and towards the other summoning him. He clapped Matt gently on the shoulder as he passed, and while his twin stiffened at the movement, he returned a bittersweet smile, no doubt thanking Alfred for ending this stupid argument once and for all.

The American turned back to the couch, to claim his portion before the others could take the best spot (yes, maybe each one looked the same, but one of the cushions were better than the rest, he knew it). Flopping down, he was given no time to revel in his success before bounding back to his aching feet again.

Arthur had begun wrapping the thick rope around Matthew, seated in the chair he was before, his gaze resting in his lap. Francis stood out of the way, casting a remorseful look towards the boy as the rope coiled around the child's body. Alfred couldn't help his fury return, and he hobbled forward to stop the Englishman's actions personally.

Perhaps it was shock at his sudden reappearance, or his strength was still a match for the old man despite Alfred's fatigue, but as soon as the American grasped Arthur's wrist, wrenching it away from the task, it fell still, no struggle beneath it.

"What the hell? I turn around for half a second and you're doing just what I told you not to!" The Briton stared back, utterly confused. He glanced away from the American's furious gaze to meet Francis' eyes for a moment, seeking reassurance in his actions before turning back, speaking his defense.

"Um…I'm doing precisely as you asked me to. I don't get what you're all riled up over, bu—"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! I tell you two to stop with all this 'tying up' crap because it's obviously scaring Matt, and then you go and do it anyway? Are you ignoring me? Or were you just gonna try and tie Mattie up behind my back and hope I wouldn't notice?" The Briton sputtered defiantly at this, wrenching his hand from Alfred's grip and attempting (in vain) to cover his _obvious_ intentions.

"I was doing no such thing! You're the one who told me to tie Matthew up! Francis and I are completely against any of this."

That was the worst excuse Alfred had ever heard from the Englishman. Did he honestly think the American would buy something like that? Let alone that _he_ was the one who told Arthur to do it? Ridiculous.

"Oh don't you try and blame this on me! I wake up to you arguing with Matt and him nearly in tears because you won't let him be. Can't you see he is obviously terrified to be in that chair? I don't understand why you'd want to stick him back in there, there's no point anymore. He's fine now."

The Briton blinked at the fuming child, confusion settled over his contemplative features. After a moment they relaxed, and the older man rolled his eyes, huffing loudly.

"You dolt, you didn't even listen to our conversation at all, did you? Here you are pronouncing that you know everything, go agreeing with something you don't even know anything about, and I'm stuck getting hollered at for actually believing you."

It was Alfred's turn to look confused. "What? Of course I know what you're talking abou—"

"No you don't. Or else you would have realized what you were approving of. Now go sit down and stay out of this, you have no idea what you're going on about." Dismissively, Arthur waved his hand towards the sofa, turning to unwrap Matthew heatedly. Alfred, on the other hand, was not finished with the conversation and limped around the other side to catch the Englishman's wavering attention.

"What? No way. I'm not gonna let you tie Mattie up just because—"

"That was never my intention." The Briton swung around, gesturing widely with the loose rope, "That is what _Matthew_ asked for. What **you** agreed to. Imbecile." Returning to his task with a grumble, he cast a level stare Matthew's way. The boy tucked his head guiltily in response.

"What?" Alfred asked, bewildered. Now _this_ didn't make any sense. Why would Matt want to be tied up if he was so scared of it in the first place?

It was Francis who turned to him now, his tone soft, almost apologetic.

"It is true. _Mattieu_…'E asked us to restrain 'im earlier, so 'e would not injure you again."

The American grimaced, bending low to catch his twin's eye.

"Wait. Matt, is what they're saying true? You want to by tied up?"

* * *

Matthew cast a guilty eye at Alfred before shifting his attention back to Arthur. He ignored his brother's hurt stare as he spoke in a frantic tone, avoiding his gaze as if he weren't even there.

"Wait, Arthur, just hear me out. I think you're making a mistake." The older man shook his head, brushing the child off as he hurried to finish unknotting him.

"It's already been decided, Lad, don't argue. I'm nearly finished."

"But don't I get a say in this? I don't trust myse—" Sighing loudly, Arthur cut him off, turning curtly to face Alfred. Looking up through his lashes, the Briton heavily announced his inquiry, droning as if he were rehearsing a boring skit.

"Alfred, do you feel yourself physically threatened in any way if Matthew remains untied? Keep in mind Francis and myself will be here to protect you if he does snap and decide to go on a murderous rampage." Matthew felt his stomach twist at the query, nervously glancing back to see his brother's reaction.

The boy gawked indignantly, disbelief that the Englishman would ever pose such an insulting question.

"I can protect myself just fine, thank you very much."

"There, see? Three against one, Matthew. The discussion is over." Wrenching off the remaining binds, Arthur slung the coil back on the desk top with an irritated breath. Matthew began to respond, but was cut off by his brother, a sly smirk wired across his twin's face as he continued his thoughts, disregarding Arthur.

"Besides, like you two would be able to do anything against an evil Mattie. You could probably hide behind Francis for a short time, you're small enough, Artie, but once you ran out of scones to bludgeon him with you'd totally be screwed." Matthew looked up at the American horrorstruck, unable to comprehend what his brother was suggesting.

"You're not taking this seriously!" he hissed to him, quiet incredulity in his tone. Alfred turned back to regard his twin with a 'lighten up' grin plastered across his face, before a fairly irate Englishman cut him off, reclaiming his attention.

"I beg your pardon! You and your brother loved my scones when you were growing up!" Without missing a beat, Alfred continued, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that was before we realized there was such a thing as 'food'." Francis laughed at this, drawing an angry glare from the pouting Englishman and a horrified one from Matthew. Tilting his head apologetically, the Frenchman attempted to console the shorter man.

"'E 'as a point, _Angleterre_. Anything edible that crosses your boarders bursts into flames instantaneously." Matthew was in disbelief. How could they all laugh about this like nothing was happening? How could they act like everything was fine when it was so obviously not?

His frustration getting the best of him, the Canadian pulled himself from his seat forcefully, startling the others. He glowered at them, his sharp words stinging the sudden quiet.

"What the hell is wrong with you? How can you just joke about something like this? Something is wrong with me! I keep blacking out and doing things and I don't know why and you can sit there and make jokes?" As the other's looked away shamefully, Arthur met his level stare with one of contriteness.

"Matthew, that's not—"

"Then what is it? Am I going crazy? You all avoid the subject like the plague and then act like nothing's wrong, even though we're obviously trapped here, without food, hiding from something outside. Meanwhile I'm going insane and Alfred is missing _a fucking eye_. Because of something I did that I can't even remember. And now, after all this, you think its fine and dandy to let the psycho roam the house free. _Beautiful_." The Briton backed off, a pained expression taunt against his face. Matthew was much too upset to give a damn, though. His brother stumbled forward, trying to calm him down.

"Mattie, come on. Things look bad now, but there's no reason—"

"No reason? Jesus, Alfred, stop being so goddamn naïve for once in your life!" A frown flickered across the American's face for a moment, a mask of reassurance plastering up in attempts to persuade his angry twin.

"It's not naïve! We're okay—"

"Nothing is okay anymore, don't you get it? Nothing will ever be okay again! _I took your eye from you, Alfred._ I took it and it's never coming back. How the hell is that gonna be okay? How the fuck are you gonna be okay because of this?" Alfred stared opposite his brother for a quiet moment, his gaze hard and level. Finally conceding, he bent his head.

"You're right. I won't be getting my eye back. It's gone for good, and even when this is over it'll still be missing. I know that." Matthew's anger drained as his twin spoke, his quiet voice echoing the room. He felt ill, seeing his brother so…broken…

"Alfred…I didn't mean—"

"Yes you did. And it's true. I won't be getting my eye back." His gaze flickered back up to meet Matthew's guilty eyes, resolve filling them once again. "But you're wrong about the rest."

Hobbling closer to stand next to his brother, Alfred clasp both hands on his twin's shoulders, forcing his focus to him before he began again.

"Things will be okay. I will be okay, and so will you. We'll get out of this, understand me? All of us."

The determination burning in Alfred's stare blazed through Matthew, and despite his doubts, despite his guilt, despite his fears, he found himself nodding in ascension.

"Good." Alfred's voice grew commanding again, a nonnegotiable tone filling it as he continued. The true voice of a leader. "And Mattie. You mark me when I say **none** of this was your fault. It was that _thing_ outside. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? And I don't want to ever hear you thinking anything to the contrary again. Understand?"

"But…Alfred—"

"No. Listen to me. I saw what happened, and you weren't involved in any of it. And I don't want you thinking you were. I'm setting the record straight now. That creature did this, _not you_." Seeing the sliver of fear still behind his brother's eyes, Alfred continued, firmer. "I promise you I won't let that thing get you again, Mattie. I swear it."

Matthew stared painfully at his brother's sincere, determined features for a long moment. Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe concerning himself over the actions of this fiend was not his business. He knew he'd never intentionally harm any of them, especially his twin. How could he? This thing, whatever it was lurking outside, it was the monster, it was the beast who took Alfred's sight. Not him. He was innocent.

It was a sweet dream, but despite his brother's affirmation of it being true, Matthew could not allow himself to live in it. No matter what Alfred said, no matter how adamant he was that the Canadian was blameless, that he quite possibly was a victim as well, Matthew couldn't let it clean his conscious. His hands were the ones that took his brother's vision from him. No amount of kind lies could change that.

And yet Alfred had asked him to not blame himself. He had said he would 'protect him'. Laughable considering his position.

Matthew's gaze lit on the white blemish concealing his twin's face. Guilt seized him again, but another reason twisted his heart.

Maybe his brother needed this. Needed him to accept that everything would be okay. Needed that piece of normality to spare his sanity.

Dropping his gaze, Matthew silently gave into his brother's testimonial. He would do this for him, push the guilt away if only to help Alfred.

The Canadian tried his very best to tell himself that this was not him just being selfish.

He wasn't completely convinced it wasn't.

* * *

Yeah, it changed perspectives halfway through. GAH, I thought I was done with that, but I guess not.

Alright, this is it for tonight. I'll try and get another chapter up soon. ^^


	20. Auspices

So. It's been a while, huh? Feb. 14th, 2011 was my last update. How depressing. Life has been throwing a ton of unpleasant curve balls at me the last three years, and living on one's own makes them all the more fun to attempt to deal with…I will tell you I haven't lost passion for this story, and despite the lack of updates, I have pretty consistently been working and reworking this chapter (as well as the end of the story). I'm pretty sure what direction I'm going in, but then again, I thought I had all the kinks worked out two and a half years ago too…

I won't promise anything, besides the fact that I will finish this. Eventually. I'm working on the next chapter right now, but I'm also going into finals, so yeah. Depending on how much I procrastinate on my studying, I will try to make this story my healthy procrastination pathway. More than likely, though, I'll be working on this over holiday break. Hopefully ~6500 words in this chapter will make up for some of the wait, those who are actually still a) in the fandom b) interested in this story.

* * *

Chapter 20

* * *

Alfred squeezed the Canadian's shoulder lightly, turning back to face the others huddled off to the side. Francis noted the relief in the child's face as the American met the older men's eyeline.

Flashing a small, reassuring smile, he tucked one arm around his twin's neck, dragging him unceremoniously to the couch. Matthew gagged at the suddenness but didn't resist the action. Alfred moved quicker than he should have been able to, flopping down on his previously claimed cushion with the unsteady Canadian an arm's length behind.

"Alright, enough of this mushy stuff already! You'd think we were part of some kinda soap opera with all this melodramatic speechmaking." He cracked a half smile, leaning into the back of the couch and releasing his startled brother as he went.

Nervously, with the previous conversation still fresh in mind, the older nations hesitated in reaction to Alfred's words. Francis was the first to stir, stepping forward cautiously. Noting the Frenchman's movements and not one to be outdone, Arthur ambled to the chair on the opposite side of the couch. Rolling his eyes at the chuckling American, he slumped himself into the adjacent seat. The Brit fell into his practiced role easily, pressing forward as if the outburst had never happened.

"Please, this is a fraction of the drama you exude on an hourly basis. I'm earnestly surprised you've managed to contain yourself this long." Alfred turned to face the Briton, brow narrowed suspiciously.

"What are you trying to say?" Francis relaxed himself into the final open chair, stifling a small snicker at the younger's distrustful (and yet so oblivious) tone. This was their way of handling things; this was a comfort. Both Alfred and Arthur, as much as they denied it, were very much alike, in this respect most of all. Francis knew where this conversation would undoubtedly end. Why not have a little fun while he was at it?

Dawning his own shrewd leer, he remarked on _Angleterre's_ behalf, nodding in the Englishman's direction.

"'E is calling you a drama queen_, mon Ami_." Alfred balked incredulously at the Frenchman for a good moment before regaining his composure with a nonchalant puff, turning to regard the Briton.

"Ya know, normally I would take that as an insult, but considering you're the king of all things drama related, I will still take it as an insult because I AM NOT A DRAMA QUEEN." The laughably high pitch Alfred's conversational tone ended on made it difficult to keep back the chuckles swirling beneath Francis' lips, but he managed, in favor of hearing the Brit's sardonic response.

"Oh please. Every other word out of your mouth is some kind of complaint." He paused, closing his eyes smugly, a self-righteous grin spread wide across his features. "More often than not involving food."

Francis smiled.

Oh, this would be good.

Alfred huffed defensively, folding his arms with a pointed glare. "I am a growing boy!"

Arthur snorted at the proclamation, leaning back in his chair with a mumble. "Yeah, growing horizontally, maybe."

Alfred's jaw dropped, stunned to silence at the sheer audacity of the Englishman. Arthur took this silence as incomprehension on the child's part and sighed, raising a heavy brow towards the youth. "…You don't even know what that word means, do you?"

"It means longways, you ass!" Alfred defended, seething with anger. "AND I AM TOO IN SHAPE!"

Arthur raised his hands, attempting to pacify the fuming American, a cheeky smile still spread wide against his lips. "Oh, no, no, you are absolutely right..." He gave Alfred a moment long enough to begin his nod in ascension, before turning his head with a half cough-laugh, whispering to himself with clear intent on the other overhearing." …If 'round' is the shape you're talking about…"

Utterly offended, the boy's face drew up in heartbroken expression. His voice fractured with false hurt, slinging his own comment at the older man, who was still chuckling away at his own cleverness, "Just because your shorter than EVERYONE doesn't mean you have to _emotionally wound_ us every chance you get!" Arthur's haughty expression fell, an indignant grimace painting over it as he leaned forward to confront the American.

"What does my posture have anything to do with this?" Pausing, he reflected on the child's insult, "And that doesn't even make any sense!"

"Your eyebrows don't make any sense!"

Blinking furiously, Arthur emitted an unintelligible noise, his mouth opening and closing in a way that quite resembled a guppy. Francis chortled at the display, turning to share in the absurdity with the only quiet one in the room. The child sat observing the row distantly, a tight expression drawn across his features. The Frenchman could see _Mattieu's_ heart was elsewhere, no doubt dwelling on the day's earlier events.

He needed to change that. Now was the time for laughing, not brooding. It was not good for him.

Besides, there wouldn't be another opportunity for this soon. Not with the situation as it was. They needed to treasure the small moments of peace they had while they still had the chance to.

Dawning an expression of mock horror, he leaned forward around the arguing pair, attempting to catch the child's attention in hushed French.

"_Petit_, _Alfred's comment has reminded me that when we rushed in here, we left all our supplies in the vehicle. Meaning_ _Angleterre_ _has left his eyebrow maintenance kit in there as well. I fear we ALL may be in grave danger._"

Francis' comment did the trick. Despite himself, humor touched the Canadian's eyes as he focused on the older man, recognizing his intentions immediately. Pressing his lips together in a tight line in attempts to maintain his composure, _Mattieu_ replied to the Frenchman's comment as best he could, his French hushed to avoid drawing the others' attention.

"_What do you mean by that?"_ Francis buried a smile, returning a look of astonishment to the child.

"_Why, Mattieu, surely you know! Without regular pruning, the creatures growing on Angleterre's face will become powerful enough to consume us all! They have claimed seven lives in the past from shoddy groomswork, and without the custom hedge clippers Arthur designed to keep them at bay, we will all unquestionably perish!"_

A short peal of laughter burst from the boy at that before he could restrain it, claiming the attention of the two bickering. _Mattieu_, feeling the room's eyes on him, bit his knuckle to keep the sound. His cheeks burned with bright embarrassment at the surprise laid plain across the others' features.

Alfred's gaze focused on the boy, his shocked expression soon swept away by a warm smile at his brother's much needed lightheartedness.

After _Angleterre's_ recovery, however, he focused dangerously on the Frenchman. A coy smirk slid across Francis' face in response, egging the Briton and the growing tick above his eye on. With false discomfort lacing his voice, the older nation dramatically gestured at Arthur's glare.

"Why do you scrunch your face up so angrily, _Angleterre_? As if you do not frighten us enough with your regular visage, must you scare away all the little woodland creatures too? What did they ever do to you? Hm?" Much too furious to be offended at the man's comments, Arthur puffed up his chest with self-ordained authority.

"You know very well why! I know you were saying something rotten in that awful tongue of yours. Stop poisoning the only decent child," he paused, giving a pointed glare at Alfred, who responded with an indignant and ignored 'hey!', before Arthur finished without missing a beat, "with your crude comments!"

Francis betrayed an expression of offense and innocence for a moment, taken aback that the Briton could ever insinuate something so demeaning. "I was merely trying to get a laugh from the boy! There is nothing 'poisoning' of which I said to 'im. We were simply sharing a well-timed joke, that is all."

Arthur's frown deepened. "Care to repeat it, then?"

Francis looked at him with an expression of mock contemplation for a short moment, drawing his finger to his lips thoughtfully before rolling his wrist away, examining his fingernail beds in a disinterested manner. "_Non_, it is a secret joke."

The Briton's eyes became slits, and Francis was joyfully aware of teeth grinding noises emanating from the seething man as he strained against his urge to break something of the Frenchman's.

"A secret?" he could hear Arthur hiss vehemently. Francis was pleased to hear curiosity leaking through the Brit's façade. Brushing his fingers against his shirt, the older man feigned remorse, replying with a tilt of his head, a small pout playing lightly on his lips.

"_Oui_." Alfred's head perked up at this, catching Francis' focus with an eager face.

"Is it secret from me too?" Arthur turned to the wondering boy with harsh words at the tip of his tongue, but the Frenchman easily interrupted him, smiling widely at the child, an airy tone pushing his voice above his British counterpart's.

"_Non, non_, just _Angleterre_."

Arthur floundered, stammering at the offhanded statement, "What? Why only me?"

Francis inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a long and quite obvious explanation. "Because I do not like you."

The Briton gaped for a moment before his face returned to one of complete ire, "…That is not an answer!" His older waved him off, the rage all but ignored as Francis continued mater-of-factly.

"It is all the answer you need, _mon Ami_." The Frenchman believed he had won this evasion game, his livid opponent sat opposite him air hissing through clenched teeth (something which was generally a precursor to a significant amount of swearing, of which always ended with the man huffing off to go pout to himself over Francis' obvious superiority in the vocal arena). He did not, however, expect Arthur to bite his tongue and face _Mattieu_, a frown still pulling at the edges of his lips.

"Fine, I don't need to hear it from you. Matthew? Care to share?" The boy was taken off guard by the sudden interest, blanching at the request as his eyes flickered back to Francis for support.

"Um…"

Arthur pushed again, irritation seeping through his tone now. "What was this joke which you found so amusing? Come now. Out with it." _Mattieu_ hesitated, eyes dropping to his lap.

"Uh…I…I'm not so sure you would want to hear it…" The child's voice wavered as he finished, dying in his throat with a nervous look back at the Englishman's raised eyebrow. Arthur remained oblivious to the source of the Canadian's hesitation, his eyes flicking back to Francis, who simply grinned in response.

"Why wo—" As realization struck, the Briton's eyes became saucers and an aghast hiss slipped from his lips as he turned to stare back to _Mattieu_, appalled.

"Matthew!"

The boy shrunk into himself, ashamed. Francis frowned at the reclusion. "S-sorry Arthur…"

_Angleterre_ straightened himself in his chair, slipping easily into a chiding tone with a click of his tongue, "You very well should be. You're supposed to be the well-behaved one. Laughing at my expense, really. I expect better."

"What better expense to laugh at, I say," Francis interrupted, plastering a smug grin across his face at the declaration. The expression faltered for a short second as his eyes refocused on the apologetic child, revealing his discontentment of before flashing Arthur a meaningful glance. He continued with the lighter tone of before, his message pointed, "Laughter is **'ealthy for the mind**."

The Brit appeared to understand Francis' silent nudging, his eyes softening as they reluctantly rested on _Mattieu_. Before he could respond, however, the Frenchman continued, "It is good to 'ave a laugh at ourselves every once in a while. It keeps us modest." He paused, his goading smirk returning full force, "Some of us could use more than others, I believe."

Brightening, Francis finished smugly prior to any rebuttal of the Englishman's, "Shall I be the first to help, _Angleterre_? I will allow you to choose, since I am such a good friend to you with this; shall I compose a quip over your teeny stature or your murderous cooking? I would offer you more variety, but I'm afraid I may become redundant."

Arthur sputtered, no doubt riling himself up for another fight, before the American twin interrupted. Again.

It was truly a miracle that the child managed to survive the Englishman's patience to grown nationhood.

"Wait. I'm still confused. What was the joke?"

"None of your damn business!" Arthur snapped, his ire drawing the younger man's brow up into his hairline.

"Jesus, dude. Keep it up, you're gonna blow up that big vein in your forehead. Get a stress ball or something." Before the seething Brit could retort, Alfred effectively ended their conversation with a disapproving shake of the head before turning towards his quiet brother, plastering up his best winning smile.

"Mattie, whadaya say? Comeon, don't hold out on me! I wanna laugh at Art too!" Francis opened his mouth to answer the impatient boy in his counterpart's stead, but _Mattieu_ cut him off before he had the chance to share his hilarious masterpiece.

"I don't think it'd be very kind to repeat." Alfred sighed heavily at this, flopping back against the chair with exaggerated frustration. Tilting his head he shot a reproachful frown at his twin.

"Ah, you're such a mama's boy! Live a little, will ya?!" Both Arthur and _Mattieu_ visibly bristled at this comment; to the Frenchman's amusement, the Canadian's docile expression fell away, annoyance filling its space.

"I am not!"

Arthur answered nearly simultaneously, his voice overpowering the other boy's weak rebuttal, "I beg your pardon! Just because Matthew behaves like **an adult** doesn't make him a 'mama's boy'. You could learn a thing or two from him, if it could make it past that thick skull of yours." Alfred glared, ignoring his brother's response in favor of yelling.

"I am very adult! And the only reason my skull is thick is because it's gotta be to protect my super smart brain!"

Francis let loose a contented snigger. This felt almost normal. Almost. Even _Mattieu's_ resigned look at being disregarded made this moment feel mundane. It was a nice break from the chaos.

Overlooking the bickering pair, Francis stood and strode to the shelf holding the pitcher of water. Filling two glasses, he walked to the couch, offering one to his quietly pouting son. The Canadian glanced up, appraising the cup for moment, before politely declining, an uncomfortable look overtaking his continence.

Arthur, pointedly aware of the Frenchman blocking his yelling target, pausing in his rantings long enough to recognize the interface. He blanched suddenly, disregarding his previous conversation.

"Matthew, I apologize, certain common courtesies escape me at times. Will you be needing to…take a moment…?" The awkward phrase hung heavy in the air, as the young man's face reddened. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat. It reminded the Frenchman of when the boy was smaller, of how he would hold himself, squirming about to avoid going to the—

"Um, no, no, I'm fine, I don't need—" It was at this moment Francis recognized the position as well. He chuckled, interrupting the stumbling child.

"_Quoi! Mattieu_, do not be so silly. Come, let us go to the bathroom, before you burst!" The boy blushed heavier, his neck glowing bright with embarrassment. Alfred stifled a chortle.

Arthur's eyes brightened, and before the Frenchman could hall the mortified boy to his feet, he interrupted. "Alfred, be kind enough to escort your brother instead, will you? I'm sure that leg of yours could use a good jaunt to get the blood pumping again." Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, apparently agreeing that a quick stretch was something he needed. Hopping up and leaning heavily on his uninjured leg, the boy swelled with unreasonable enthusiasm.

"Comeon Mattie, the Toilet awaits!" If it were possible, _Mattieu_ got even rosier at this, mumbling under his breath as he outstepped Alfred and passed through the door, leaving the trailing American guffawing in his wake.

In the quiet of the empty room, Francis looked at Arthur incredulously, concern etched in his features. "Was it the smartest to send Alfred with 'im? I'm not sure if 'aving the boy on that leg will 'elp it to 'eal…" The vibrant memory from the tape still clear in his shaken mind, Francis repressed a tremble at the thought of how the wound came to be.

The Briton walked swiftly to the door, peering down the hall after the two boys, ensuring their departure. Closing it most of the way, Arthur took a deep, conspiratorial breath, turning to the Frenchman. Francis recognized the look on his face immediately.

Time was up.

With a sigh of his own, the older man nodded.

"Alright, _Angleterre_, alright. What is your plan then?"

There was hesitation on the other's part, an obvious search for the correct words, before he pulled his gaze up to face Francis, hopeful determination glinting against his tired eyes.

"Well…There are several different options. I personally would feel more comfortable going with a lighter binding, but my fear is that may not be strong enough for this particular…being. I could try a banishment incantation, but that could just prolong the situation, and it would be rather gray, so that could lead to certain probl—" the Frenchman held up a hand, stopping Arthur mid-thought. Perking a brow at the man, Francis offered a rueful grin.

"_Angleterre_, per'aps you should try explaining in a way I could better contribute. I am not very well versed in these workings, and I am afraid what you are saying is going right above my 'ead."

Exhaling heavily, Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, consenting. "Alright, because you apparently have the spellcasting knowledge of an infant, I suppose I must begin at the beginning. Have you heard of Dark Magick? I'm sure you have some general knowledge," the Briton grunted, "…Whether it's correct is debatable."

Francis perked up. "You mean to say Black Magic? Yes, I 'ave 'eard of that... It is something which involves bad energies, _oui_? Something malicious or evil?" Arthur shook his head, obviously torn between berating and educating.

"**Magick** does not come in colors, but yes, in part. If the caster's intent is malevolent, cursing or hexing another, they would be drawing from dark, otherwise 'black,' energies to move their spell in our realm, thus making the spell 'dark.' It is possible for an amateur caster to mistakenly do this as well, which would lead to what's known as a 'grey' spell. This essentially results in an initially light charm becoming dark, leading to—" The Frenchman held up a hand in protest.

"But I thought you said magic was not colored." The younger man huffed indignantly.

"Grey is a shade!" Francis rolled his eyes. So stubborn!

"It is not. Now I believe you are just making things up as you go along, _Angleterre_. Not a very effective explanation." The Briton bristled at this, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at his accuser.

"Shut your trap and give me half a damn second to explain, will you? Grey magic is a term used for spells gone awry; something occurring that a caster does not plan for because of less than honorable intent." Francis' brows furrowed, and the Englishman sighed, continuing. "An example of this would be a desire for wealth resulting in a dear relative's death and thus, gaining their inheritance, fulfilling their ambition, but at a great cost. Unintentional, but Dark Magick nonetheless. Therefore, Grey Magick." Arthur paced away from the doorway, rapping his knuckles lightly along the wall as he continued. He sighed softly.

"To a practiced user, what one might consider 'sinister intent' can be circumvented. Utilizing this would enable the spell to remain 'light' without compromising the desired outcome terribly much, though some in potency. It is difficult, but not impossible." The Englishman paused, offering a pointed look. "However, there is another definition…

"In what's known as 'Chaos Magick', Black energies can be used to strengthen the power of a spell, among other things. I, personally over the years, have yet to see a significant influx with the use of it, at least not enough to outweigh the consequences of its practice. If anything, it makes the spell that much more volatile. The more one messes with it, the longer it takes to cleanse afterward, which can result in backlash. Thus I generally avoid it and dabble in lighter magicks."

Francis frowned. This conversation was going nowhere.

"Then why even consider it? If it 'as the potential to 'arm us, why would you debate its use in this situation?" The Briton chewed the inside of his lip, sharing the other's grimace.

"…Well…I fear that with this enemy, whom of which we know NOTHING about, might I remind you, a white spell…might not do it off. Not for good, at least. And with that, it would no doubt return with a vengeance. With a white intent, full destruction of the creature could be nearly impossible, the spell would simply be too weak to accomplish the task. I may have to draw on other energies to undertake this properly. But therein lies another problem; what method to use…"

Arthur paused to himself, leaving Francis to ponder his words. What method? Surely the man would simply destroy the creature. There must be a spell for that somewhere. Something for killing (or rather, protecting from, were they to use this 'white magick') demonic creatures of the night.

Spying the Frenchman's confused stare, the Briton narrowed his gaze on him. "Oh don't be so surprised. This is not like picking any old sweet that suits one's general fancy. The incantation must fit perfectly with the caster and the beast for it to work. Conditions must be met, otherwise it will backfire. Horribly so."

Francis blanched. He did not want to know what would constitute this horribleness. "What sort of conditions?"

Arthur exhaled deeply. "Well, for starters, we have to determine whether banishment or binding would serve our needs best."

The Frenchman perked up at this. "That sounds fairly easy. Certainly a banishment curse would be the best, correct? The creature is sent to 'ell to burn in eternal flame and we are free of it, _oui_? End of problem." The younger man rolled his eyes, shaking his head condescendingly.

"Ugh, your insinuated knowledge, or rather lack thereof, is the very reason why I question my choice in even telling you these things. I doubt you will retain any of it." Francis glared, grunting in frustration at the rudeness of his companion.

"Well, if you are so savvy on this, then tell me what is so wrong with what I said. It would be much more productive than complaining all the day long over my 'fairy knowledge.'" Arthur growled back.

"Not the same thing, for one." The Frenchman began to protest, but was cut off by the impatient Briton. "NEEDLESS TO SAY, banishment, while displacing the creature from us, would only serve to 'cover the symptoms,' one could say. The monster would remain intact, living, wherever I were to banish it to. But binding, on the other hand, would at the very least result in the loss of its power, if not the total destruction of the beast." Despite the promise in these words, Francis could sense the Englishman was withholding something from him. Anxiety stirred in his chest at the foreboding look the other held on his continence.

"What is it that makes you reconsider this decision, then? There is something that makes you 'esitate…?" Arthur looked down, breathing loudly through his nose before continuing quietly.

"Well…With banishment, it's fairly straightforward. Not simple, no, but less…room for error. With binding…specters will almost always become bound to the caster. Even if done properly."

Francis sucked in a breath through his teeth. _Angleterre_ would be doing the casting…

"But…What does that mean? You would be tormented by this beast if it becomes bound to you?" Obviously this was not something that could be allowed to happen. Arthur hesitated, deciding the best way to approach the anger and shock in the other man's voice.

"Well…it is a possibility. With binding, the caster acts as an intermediate holding for the spirit's energies before proper disposal or transfer. Were it a normal spirit or creature, with something I could reference strength or persistence from, temporarily binding it to myself would not be a problem. Each is individualized, with its own method of disposal and retaining time. With the right preparation, I could easily handle any being." The smugness at this last statement almost annoyed the Frenchman enough to pull the man from his building dread. Almost. His younger's shoulders drooped a little as he continued.

"But…as this thing has no precedent…And, as we've seen, this one is incredibly dangerous…Attaching those energies to myself would be worrisome even in the best situations. Without proper knowledge about the creature, the bind might not hold at all, or be too strong to remove later…The potential of possession still remains quite real, at least in the soul it inhabits. Which, as been noted, can easily lead to much worse affairs with this particular beast…" Arthur's frown deepened. He was keeping something more, something worse, Francis could tell, but he did not push the man. The shock of what had been said was enough.

The Englishman continued, "However…I am not sure there are any other feasible options at this point." Resolve hardened the Briton's tone, a silent acceptance of duty underlying the words, "If that thing is bound, it won't be able to effect anyone else, and with planning on our part, it should be capable of relatively safe transport."

Francis' thoughts raced. Arthur couldn't possibly be suggesting what it seemed he was. Taking on this beast, with the potential to have lasting scars on his soul, and the possibility of it not being able to be removed from him? And if he was consumed by that monster, what then?

If things were to go…awry…the beast being bound to a vessel would at least be contained…It would no longer retain its supernatural abilities, it would just be a general possession; at worst, destroying the vessel would destroy it as well….

"_Que non_!" The Frenchman hissed under his breath, shaking his head adamantly against the suggestion, as if this would dispel it faster. He gave the Englishmen a pleading look, already knowing the words on the other's lips before he spoke.

In a defeated tone, the Briton breathed, "Francis, all angles must be considered before we proceed. Sacrifices may need to be made to insur—" The older man cut him off, fury in his tone slicing through the quiet air in a sharp whisper.

"Putting your safety on the line goes too far, _Angeleterre_. Some things must come first."

The Frenchman knew nothing of magick, as previously pointed out in this conversation REPEATEDLY. If the worst happened, what then? Francis would be incapable of fixing this. He could try consulting another country or one of the Briton's countrymen better acquainted to the supernatural, but what if they could not decipher the man's spellcasting? Francis understood enough to know these powers were very individualized; would anyone be able to comprehend the Englishman's enchantments?

…He could be lost, there were just so many things which could go wrong, and as much as the Frenchman hated to admit it…Arthur was just too damn important…

This was insane! The Briton could not expect this foolhardy plan to work. He was letting his emotions for the situation to drive him to singular options. Surely there was some way around it…

"You say the creature must be contained in a temporary vessel before destruction. Must it be the caster? Could it not be another, one other than the person binding the beast?"

Perhaps if he took the monster on himself, _Angleterre_ could find a way to reverse it…And even if he couldn't…If this was the only option they had, it would be better to still have Arthur in control of his faculties. He would be much better prepared to handle the creature than the Frenchman. At least he could help…

The look on the Englishman's face said it all. He shook his head solemnly, sadness touching his usually stoic eyes. "Impossible. Redirecting the specter to another would result in the spell becoming grey. Another's soul would be put in danger because of it, despite well placed intentions. The curse would most certainly backfire in this situation, it is much too delicate."

Francis frowned. There had to be something, anything to use in replacement...

"What about…inanimate objects? They do not 'ave souls, so it would not be malicious to use them to bind it, _oui_?" The stress of the reasoning was obviously getting to Arthur, his lips pinched into a tight, exasperated line.

"You are not understanding the true dilemma here, Frog. Were it as simple as that, there wouldn't be a problem. Whatever the creature is bound to must speak the incantation for it not to become grey. How do you expect an inanimate object to talk, mm? I can't very well make it spontaneously grow a pair of li—"

The frustration that creased the Englishman's face evaporated in that moment, a powerful thought dawning on him. The relief that spread across the man was palpable. Francis bit back a smile. If it was enough to keep him from slinging insults at the Frenchman, Arthur must have thought of something good.

"What is it? Do you 'appen to know an incantation that spawns lips? That would be quite useful in this situation," he egged on in a playful tone. The Englishman stirred from his musings, his face wrinkling with a mixture of confusion and distaste.

"…What? No. No, nothing like that." A proud smile tugged at the corner of the Briton's lips. "But, I may have found a loophole."

"Oh really? Care to elaborate upon it then? I am truly on the edge of my seat in anticipation." Despite the sarcasm, Francis couldn't deny the pinpricks of curiosity kneading his stomach as he waited for the other to continue. The haughtiness radiating off the man was palpable, but he ignored it in favor of an explanation.

"It is rather brilliant, actually. If I were to seal the spell into the object, there would be no need for a formal 'chant' on its part. It would act like a cursed item; the creature could be bound to it with little more than direct contact…Though, it will be more complex than that, otherwise the caster could be bound as well…" he paused, tapping his chin in thought. "It would also need to be something that could damage it. Better to weaken the monster when activating the binding, that way there is less chance of the spell denaturing mid-cast…"

Eager to add to this new solution, Francis interrupted, "Well…Did Alfred not mention that knives pained it previous? Per'aps if we use it offensively…"

"Yes, that could work quite well to our advantage. However..." Arthur drew a grimace across his features, staring purposely at the Frenchman, "If we do use such a close range weapon…It would mean one of us would have to get close enough to that thing to effectively stab it."

"Yes...We must be careful. The creature, it is definitely formidable at that range…" Pausing, Francis bit his inner lip, sighing lightly. "I believe it would be best to only involve ourselves with this plan. The boys, in their conditions, may…hinder the undertaking."

The less variability, the safer. While that was a superficial reason to keep the children uninvolved, Francis admitted a larger part of him felt guilty. They had dealt with enough of this over the past few days, no need to perpetuate their struggles. Not with something _The Adults_ could handle without them.

Arthur grimaced, nodding slowly. "Yes, it would be best if we kept them out of it…" Glancing at the clock, the Briton frowned forlornly, "We will need to distract them somehow when the time arrives; they are much too stubborn for their own good when it comes to these things…I cannot trust that…" he paused, predicting the other's reaction, "I know you don't want to hear this, but Black Magick, it stains the soul, Francis. As reasonable, as coherent, as _normal_ as the boy seems, a subsequent possession might be something we should be wary of with Matthew…I feel we should keep him in the dark as much as possible, especially with what we plan to do. Just in case."

The meaning behind this last message, that the beast could still be in _Mattieu_, listening, waiting, it made Francis' stomach twist. He wished he could argue against the man's logic, dispel the fears that swam beneath them, but the older man knew Arthur was right. He was always right when it came to these matters. If he thought it was a possibility…

The Briton felt the need to reassure the Frenchman and break the long silence of his thoughts, "Don't fret. The boy should be fine after the binding. With its powers removed, the bond between them will be broken. Until then, though, any connection that creature has to us it **will** exploit. We must be cautious and diligent. We can't let our guard down."

Francis felt ice slip down his spine. Arthur was right. That monstrosity would exploit anything and everything it could to get to them…Nothing could be overlooked….

…Could he have been bound to this creature during their last encounter? He did not feel different from it, did not feel as if he were not in control, as if he had lost his ability to govern his own thoughts and actions…But he had been controlled. If just for a moment, he had, his mind **had** belonged to that wretched creature. He had been…bonded…

Francis barely registered the other continue, pacing as he thought aloud, "It will take me the night to prepare the blade, so plan for tomorrow. Preferably before sunset. It will be best if we can draw it out during a time we can see it fully."

"_Oui_," The Frenchman nodded, robotically. Arthur paused his pacings, his eyes meeting the other's sharply. Emotion stirred behind the gaze. Francis shifted uncomfortably at his stare, fear prickling his neck at the look. Whatever it was, the man did not act on it, however. After a breath _Angeleterre_ continued his patrol, unperturbed.

"Precautions will also need to be taken to prevent us from being controlled as Matthew has been. The last thing we need is for one of us to be compromised in the mist of the operation. I'm not fully sure how the creature controls its victims, though, so that will make it difficult to determine our plan of attack." Francis nodded, focused. The memory of the kitchen shot clearly to the surface of his mind. Certainly the experience could help.

"Its power seems very reliant upon eye contact. I believe that if we avoid its face, we should be able to attack with little troubles." Arthur brushed off the response, deep in contemplation.

"We do not know that for certain, though…" Agitation spiked through Francis at the disregard. That man, so easy to believe in fairies, can't even trust that the Frenchman could know something of what to do. For a man of so much faith he had very little in his own companions.

Frustration leaked into the response unbid, "Trust me, I do."

The older man, exasperation still heavy in his mind, did not immediately understand the sudden halt to the Briton's march across the room at this refute, the slow turn of his gaze, and the obvious concern threaded through his words.

"How…What do you mean by that, Francis?"

The Frenchman froze. Answering this question truthfully, revealing how close he had become to being overtaken by the beast…it certainly couldn't result in anything good. He could see the suspicion washing the other's eyes as the Briton came to his own conclusions. If he knew, not only would he distrust Francis, feel he were a liability but…Arthur had just given the plan, the only hope to save them to a _compromised_ individual.

The Englishman would be alone. _Mattieu_, too deeply connected with the beast for there to be any hope of salvation until after it was destroyed. Alfred, too injured to help in any reasonable capacity. He would have no one, the only hope in a situation becoming progressively more hopeless by the minute. He needed the Frenchman to be untainted. He needed him on his side.

So he lied.

"Alfred…'e told me about it…earlier…We spoke…during the cleaning. Yes. 'e was very adamant about this." The Briton eyed the man with confusion. Fear trickled down his chest. Arthur was not a stupid man, and the Frenchman knew this was no foolproof invention. However, making _Angeleterre_ aware of what had happened in the kitchen would only cause problems. He willed Arthur to move on, pressing forward.

"Regardless, I do not see 'ow fighting blind will serve us. We may require a distraction. Per'aps involving someone on the second floor? 'e should not be capable of reaching us there."

The Englishman continued to stare pointedly for a long moment before shaking his head. "No, he can increase his size, that was evident on the tapes." Francis sighed internally; the man would drop the subject.

For now.

* * *

"_Quoi!"_ -used as interjections to express shock and disbelief, literally translates to "What."

"_Que non_!" -"absolutely not!" literally translates to "do not."

I don't know if the amount of research I did for that last section comes across, but it was quite a lot. Also, stayed in Francis' perspective the whole way through! Poor guy doesn't get enough attention as it is…

Wonder if his decision to keep that info from Artie will come back to bite him in the rear later…

PS. I am editing old chapters (mostly for clarity) and posting them on archiveofourown, under the same name I have here. No plot will change, just format and clarity. I am editing dialogue I don't like, but as I said, the plot will remain the same. If you'd like to reread a cleaner version, check it out. Eventually I'll edit this one too, but I'm focused on finishing the story here right now. One day…


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